... 


• 


HUMOURS    OF 
:  IRISH     LIFE  : 


Drawn  by] 


Frank  Webber  wins  the  wager 


HUMOURS 
OF    IRISH    LIFE 


WITH    AN     INTRODUCTION 
BY   CHARLES    L.    GRAVES,    M.A 


NEW    YORK: 

FREDERICK    A.    STOKES    COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


PRINTED  BY  THE 

EDUCATIONAL  COMPANY 

OF    IRELAND    LIMITED 

AT  THE  TALBOT  PRESS 

DUBLIN 


Introduction. 


THE  first  of  the  notable  humorists  of  Irish  life  was 
William  Maginn,  one  of  the  most  versatile,  as  well  as 
brilliant  of  Irish  men  of  letters. 

He  was  born  in  Cork  in  1793,  and  was  a  classical 
schoolmaster  there  in  early  manhood,  having  secured 
the  degree  of  LL.D.  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  when 
only  23  years  of  age.  The  success  in  "  Blackwood's 
Magazine  "  of  some  of  his  translations  of  English  verse 
into  the  Classics  induced  him,  however,  to  give  up 
teaching  and  to  seek  his  fortunes  as  a  magazine  writer 
and  journalist  in  London,  at  a  time  when  Lamb, 
De  Quincey,  Lockhart  and  Wilson  gave  most  of  their 
writings  to  magazines. 

Possessed  of  remarkable  sparkle  and  finish  as  a  writer, 
considering  with  what  little  effort  and  with  what 
rapidity  he  poured  out  his  political  satires  in  prose  and 
verse,  and  his  rollicking  magazine  sketches,  it  was  no 
wonder  that  he  leaped  into  popularity  at  a  bound.  He 
was  the  original  of  the  Captain  Shandon  of  Pendennis 
and  though  Thackeray  undoubtedly  attributed  to  him 
a  political  venality  of  which  he  was  never  guilty,  whilst 
describing  him  during  what  was  undoubtedly  the  latter 
and  least  reputable  period  in  his  career,  it  is  evident  that 
he  considered  Maginn  to  be,  as  he  undoubtedly  was, 
a  literary  figure  of  conspicuous  accomplishment  and 
mark  in  the  contemporary  world  of  letters. 

Amongst  his  satiric  writings,  his  panegyric  of  Colonel 
Pride  may  stand  comparison  even  with  Swift's  most 

2061051 


ii  INTRODUCTION. 

notable  philippics  ;  whilst  his  Sir  Morgan  O'Doherty 
was  the  undoubted  ancestor  of  Maxwell's  and  Lever  f 
hard  drinking,  practical  joking  Irish  military  heroes, 
and  frequently  appears  as  one  of  the  speakers  in  Profess< 
Wilson's  "  Noctes  Ambrosianae,"  of  which  the  doctor 
was  one  of  the  mainstays. 

Besides  his  convivial  song  of  "  St.  Patrick,"  his 
"  Gathering  of  the  Mahonys,"  and  his  "  Cork  is  an 
Eden  for  you,  Love,  and  me,"  written  by  him  as  genuine 
"  Irish  Melodies,"  to  serve  as  an  antidote  to  what  he 
called  the  finicking  Bacchanalianism  of  Moore,  he 
contributed,  as  Mr.  D.  J.  O'Donoghue  conclusively 
proves,  several  stories,  including  "  Daniel  O'Rourke," 
printed  in  this  volume,  to  Crofton  Croker's  "  Fairy 
Legends  and  Traditions  of  Ireland,"  first  published 
anonymously  in  1825 — a  set  of  Folk  Tales  full  of  a 
literary  charm  which  still  makes  them  delightful  reading. 
For  just  as  Moore  took  Irish  airs,  touched  them  up 
and  partnered  them  with  lyrics  to  suit  upper  class 
British  and  Irish  taste,  so  Croker  gathered  his  Folk 
Tales  from  the  Munster  peasantry  with  whom  he  was 
familiar  and,  assisted  by  Maginn  and  others,  gave  them 
exactly  that  form  and  finish  needful  to  provide  the 
reading  public  of  his  day  with  an  inviting  volume  of 
fairy  lore. 

Carleton  and  the  brothers  John  and  Michael  Banim, 
besides  Samuel  Lover,  whose  gifts  are  treated  of  else- 
where in  this  introduction,  followed  with  what  Dr. 
Douglas  Hyde  rightly  describes  as  Folk  Lore  of  "an 
incidental  and  highly  manipulated  type." 

A  more  genuine  Irish  storyteller  was  Patrick  Kennedy, 
twice  represented  in  this  volume,  whose  "  Legendary 
Fictions  of  the  Irish  Celt  "  and  "  Fireside  Stories  of 


INTRODUCTION.  iii 

Ireland  "  were  put  down  by  him  much  as  he  heard  them 
as  a  boy  in  his  native  county  of  Wexford,  where  they  had 
already  passed  with  little  change  in  the  telling  from 
the  Gaelic  into  the  peculiar  Anglo-Irish  local  dialect 
which  is  markedly  West  Saxon  in  its  character. 

His  lineal  successor  as  a  Wexford  Folklorist  is  Mr. 
P.  J.  McCall,  one  of  whose  stories,  '  Fionn  MacCumhail 
and  the  Princess  "  we  reproduce,  and  a  woman  Folk 
tale  teller,  Miss  B.  Hunt,  adds  to  our  indebtedness 
to  such  writers  by  her  recently  published  and  delightful 
Folk  Tales  of  Breffny  from  which  "  McCarthy  of 
Connacht "  has  been  taken  for  these  pages. 

We  have  also  the  advantage  of  using  Dr.  Hyde's 
"  The  Piper  and  the  Puca,"  a  foretaste,  we  believe,  of  the 
pleasure  in  store  for  our  readers  in  the  volume  of  Folk 
Tales  he  is  contributing  to  "  Every  Irishman's  Library  " 
under  the  engaging  title  of  "  Irish  Saints  and  Sinners." 

In  a  survey  of  the  Anglo-Irish  humorous  novel  of 
recent  times,  the  works  of  Charles  Lever  form  a 
convenient  point  of  departure,  for  with  all  his  limita- 
tions he  was  the  first  to  write  about  Irish  life  in  such  a 
way  as  to  appeal  widely  and  effectively  to  an  English 
audience.  We  have  no  intention  of  dwelling  upon  him 
at  any  length — he  belongs  to  an  earlier  generation — 
but  between  him  and  his  successors  there  are  points  both 
of  resemblance  and  of  dissimilarity  sufficient  to  make 
an  interesting  comparison  The  politics  and  social 
conditions  of  Lever's  time  are  not  those  of  the  present, 
but  the  spirit  of  Lever's  Irishman,  though  with  modifi- 
cations, is  still  alive  to-day. 

Lever  had  not  the  intensity  of  Carleton,  or  the  fine 
humanity  of  Kickham,  but  he  was  less  uncompromising 
in  his  use  of  local  colour,  and  he  was,  as  a  rule,  far  more 


IV  INTRODUCTION. 

cheerful.  He  had  not  the  tender  grace  or  simplicity 
of  Gerald  Griffin,  and  never  wrote  anything  so  moving 
or  beautiful  as  "  The  Collegians,"  which  will  form  a 
special  volume  of  this  Library,  but  he  surpassed  him  in 
vitality,  gusto,  exuberance  and  knowledge  of  the  world. 

Overrated  in  the  early  stages  of  his  career,  Lever  paid 
the  penalty  of  his  too  facile  triumphs  in  his  lifetime, 
and  his  undoubted  talents  have  latterly  been  depre- 
ciated on  political  as  well  as  artistic  grounds.  His 
heroes  were  drawn,  with  few  exceptions,  from  the 
landlord  class  or  their  faithful  retainers.  The  gallant 
Irish  officers,  whose  Homeric  exploits  he  loved  to 
celebrate,  held  commissions  in  the  British  army.  Lever 
has  never  been  popular  with  Nationalist  politicians, 
though,  as  a  matter  of  fact  no  one  ever  exhibited  the 
extravagance  and  recklessness  of  the  landed  gentry  in 
more  glaring  colours.  And  he  is  anathema  to  the 
hierophants  of  the  Neo-Celtic  Renascence  on  account 
of  his  jocularity.  There  is  nothing  crepuscular  about 
Lever  ;  you  might  as  well  expect  to  find  a  fairy  in  a 
railway  station. 

Again,  Lever  never  was  and  never  could  be  the  novelist 
of  literary  men.  He  was  neither  a  scholar  nor  an  artist ; 
he  wrote  largely  in  instalments  ;  and  in  his  earlier 
novels  was  wont  to  end  a  chapter  in  a  manner  that 
rendered  something  like  a  miracle  necessary  to 
continue  the  existence  of  the  hero  :  "  He  fell  lifeless 
to  the  ground,  the  same  instant  I  was  felled  to  the  earth 
by  a  blow  from  behind,  and  saw  no  more."  In 
technique  and  characterisation  his  later  novels  show  a 
great  advance,  but  if  he  lives,  it  will  be  by  the  spirited 
loosely-knit  romances  of  love  and  war  composed  in  the 
first  ten  years  of  his  literary  career.  His  heroes  had  no 


INTRODUCTION.  V 

scruples  in  proclaiming  their  physical  advantages  and 
athletic  prowess  ;  Charles  O'Malley,  that  typical  Galway 
miles  gloriosus,  introduces  himself  with  ingenuous  egotism 
in  the  following  passage  : 

"  I  rode  boldly  with  fox-hounds  ;  I  was  about  the  best  shot 
within  twenty  miles  of  us  ;  I  could  swim  the  Shannon  at  Holy 
Island  ;  I  drove  four-in-hand  better  than  the  coachman  himself  ; 
and  from  finding  a  hare  to  cooking  a  salmon,  my  equal  could  not 
be  found  from  Killaloe  to  Banagher." 

The  life  led  by  the  Playboys  of  the  West  (old  style) 
as  depicted  in  Lever's  pages  was  one  incessant  round 
of  reckless  hospitality,  tempered  by  duels  and  practical 
joking,  but  it  had  its  justification  in  the  family  annals 
of  the  fire-eating  Blakes  and  Bodkins  and  the  records 
of  the  Connaught  Circuit.  The  intrepidity  of  Lever's 
heroes  was  only  equalled  by  their  indiscretion,  their 
good  luck  in  escaping  from  the  consequences  of  their 
folly,  and  their  susceptibility.  His  womenfolk  may  be 
roughly  divided  into  three  classes  ;  sentimental  heroines, 
who  sighed,  and  blushed  and  fainted  on  the  slightest 
provocation  ;  buxom  Amazons,  like  Baby  Blake  ;  and 
campaigners  or  adventuresses.  But  the  gentle,  senti- 
mental, angelic  type  predominates,  and  finds  a  perfect 
representative  in  Lucy  Dashwood. 

When  Charles  O'Malley  was  recovering  from  an 
accident  in  the  hunting  field,  he  fell  asleep  in  an  easy- 
chair  in  the  drawing-room  and  was  awakened  by  the 
"  thrilling  chords  of  a  harp  "  : 

"  I  turned  gently  round  in  my  chair  and  beheld  Miss  Dashwood. 
She  was  seated  in  a  recess  of  an  old-fashioned  window  ;  the  pale 
yellow  glow  of  a  wintry  sun  at  evening  fell  upon  her  beautiful  hair, 
and  tinged  it  with  such  a  light  as  I  have  often  since  then  seen  in 
Rembrandt's  pictures  ;  her  head  leaned  upon  the  harp,  and,  as 
she  struck  its  chords  at  random,  I  saw  that  her  mind  was  far 
away  from  all  around  her.  As  I  looked,  she  suddenly  started  from 
her  leaning  attitude,  and,  parting  back  her  curls  from  her  brow, 


vi  INTRODUCTION. 

she  preluded   a  few   chords,   and  then  sighed   forth,   rather  than 
sang,  that  most  beautiful  of  Moore's  melodies- 
She  is  far  from  th«  land  where  her  young  hero  slwpr' 
Never  before  had   such  pathot,   such  deep   utterance  of    feeling, 
met  my  astonished  sense  ;    I  listened  breathlessly  as  the  tears  fell 
one  by  one  down  my  cheek  ;    my  bosom  heaved  and  fell  ;     and 
when  'she  ceased,  I  hid  my  head  between  my  hands  and  sobbed 
aloud." 

Lever's  serious  heroines,  apart  from  the  fact  that  they 
could  ride,  did  not  differ  in  essentials  from  those  of 
Dickens,  and  a  sense  of  humour  was  no  part  of  their 
mental  equipment.  The  hated  rival,  the  dark-browed 
Captain  Hammersly,  was  distinguished  by  his  "  cold 
air  and  repelling  hauteur"  and  is  a  familiar  figure  in 
mid-Victorian  romance.  Lever's  sentiment,  in  short, 
is  old-fashioned,  and  cannot  be  expected  to  appeal 
to  a  Feminist  age  which  has  given  us  the  public  school 
girl  and  the  suffragist.  There  is  no  psychological 
interest  in  the  relations  of  his  heroes  and  heroines  ; 
Charles's  farewell  to  Lucy  is  on  a  par  with  the  love 
speeches  in  "  The  Lyons  Mail."  There  is  seldom  any 
doubt  as  to  the  ultimate  reunion  of  his  lovers  ;  we  are 
only  concerned  with  the  ingenuity  of  the  author  in 
surmounting  the  obstacles  of  his  own  invention.  He  was 
fertile  in  the  devising  of  exciting  incident ;  he  was  always 
able  to  eke  out  the  narrative  with  a  good  story  or  song—- 
as a  writer  of  convivial,  thrasonic  or  mock-sentimental 
verse  he  was  quite  in  the  first  class — and  in  his  earlier 
novels  his  high  spirits  and  sense  of  fun  never  failed. 

In  his  easy-going  methods  he  may  have  been  influenced 
by  the  example  of  Dickens — the  Dickens  of  the  "  Pickwick 
Papers  " — but  there  is  no  ground  for  any  charge  of 
conscious  imitation,  and  where  he  challenged  direct 
comparison — in  the  character  of  Mickey  Free — he 
succeeded  in  drawing  an  Irish  Sam  Weller  who  falls 


INTRODUCTION.  Vll 

little  short  of  his  more  famous  Cockney  counterpart. 
For  Lever  was  a  genuine  humorist,  or  perhaps  we 
should  say  a  genuine  comedian,  sine*  the  element 
of  theatricality  was  seldom  absent.  The  choicest 
exploits  of  that  grotesque  Admirable  Crichton,  Frank 
Webber,  were  carried  out  by  hoaxing,  disguise,  or 
trickery  of  some  sort.  But  the  scene  in  which  Frank 
wins  his  wager  by  impersonating  Miss  Judy  Macan 
and  sings  "  The  Widow  Malone "  is  an  admirable 
piece  of  sustained  fooling  :  admirable,  too,  in  its  way  is 
the  rescue  of  the  imaginary  captive  in  the  Dublin  drain. 
As  a  delineator  of  the  humours  of  University  life,  Lever 
combined  the  atmosphere  of  "  Verdant  Green  "  with 
the  sumptuous  upholstery  of  Ouida.  Here,  again, 
in  his  portraits  of  dons  and  undergraduates  Lever 
undoubtedly  drew  in  part  from  life,  but  fell  into  his 
characteristic  vice  of  exaggeration  in  his  embroidery. 
Frank  Webber's  antics  are  amusing,  but  it  is  hard  to 
swallow  his  amazing  literary  gifts  or  the  contrast  between 
his  effeminate  appearance  and  his  dare-devil  energy. 

While  "  Lord  Kilgobbin  " — which  ran  as  a  serial  in 
the  "  Cornhill  Magazine  "  from  October,  1870,  to  March, 
1872 — was  not  wholly  free  from  Lever's  besetting  sin, 
it  is  interesting  not  only  as  the  most  thoughtful  and  care- 
fully written  of  his  novels,  but  on  account  of  its  political 
attitude.  Here  Lever  proved  himself  no  champion 
a  entrance  of  the  landlords,  but  was  ready  to  admit  that 
their  joyous  conviviality  was  too  often  attended  by  gross 
mismanagement  of  their  estates.  The  methods  of  Peter 
Gill,  the  land  steward,  are  shown  to  be  all  centred  in 
craft  and  subtlety — "  outwitting  this  man,  forestalling 
that,  doing  everything  by  halves,  so  that  no  boon  came 
unassociated  with  some  contingency  or  other  by  which 


viii  INTRODUCTION. 

he  secured  to  himself  unlimited  power  and  uncontrolled 
tyranny."  The  sympathy  extended  to  the  rebels  of 
'98  is  remarkable  and  finds  expression  in  the  spirited 
lines  : — 

"  Is  there  anything  more  we  can  fight  or  can  hate  for  ? 

The  '  drop  '  and  the  famine  have  made  our  ranks  thin. 
In  the  name  of  endurance,  then,  what  do  we  wait  for  ? 
Will  nobody  give  us  the  word  to  begin  ?  " 

These  must  have  been  almost  the  last  lines  Lever  ever 
wrote,  unless  we  accept  the  bitter  epitaph  on  himself  : 
"  For  sixty  odd  years  he  lived  in  the  thick  of  it, 
And  now  he  is  gone,  not  so  much  very  sick  of  it, 
As  because  he  believed  he  heard  somebody  say, 
'  Harry  Lorrequer's  hearse  is  stopping  the  way.'  " 

The  bitterness  of  the  epitaph  lies  in  the  fact  that  it  was 
largely  true  ;  he  had  exhausted  the  vein  of  rollicking 
romance  on  which  his  fame  and  popularity  rested. 
For  the  rest  the  charge  of  misrepresenting  Irish  life  is 
met  by  so  judicious  a  critic  as  the  late  Dr.  Garnett  with 
a  direct  negative  : — 

"  He  has  not  actually  misrepresented  anything,  and  cannot  be 
censured  for  confining  himself  to  the  society  which  he  knew  ;  nor 
was  his  talent  adapted  for  the  treatment  of  such  life  in  its  melancholy 
and  poetic  aspects,  even  if  these  had  been  more  familiar  to  him." 

Of  the  humorous  Irish  novelists  who  entered  into 
competition  with  Lever  for  the  favour  of  the  English- 
speaking  public  in  his  lifetime,  two  claim  special  notice — 
Samuel  Lover  and  Joseph  Sheridan  Le  Fanu.  Lover 
has  always  been  bracketed  with  Lever,  whom  he 
resembled  in  many  ways,  but  he  was  overshadowed 
by  his  more  brilliant  and  versatile  contemporary.  Yet 
within  his  limited  sphere  he  was  a  true  humorist,  and 
the  careless,  whimsical,  illogical  aspects  of  Irish  character 
have  seldom  been  more  effectively  illustrated  than  by 
the  author  of  '  Handy  Andy,'  and  '  The  Gridiron.  ' 
Paddy,  as  drawn  by  Lover,  succeeds  in  spite  of  his 


INTRODUCTION.  IX 

drawbacks,  much  as  Brer  Rabbit  does  in  the  tales  of 
Uncle  Remus.  His  mental  processes  remind  one  of 
the  story  of  the  Hungarian  baron  who,  on  paying  a 
visit  to  a  friend  after  a  railway  journey,  complained  of 
a  bad  headache,  the  result  of  sitting  with  his  back  to 
the  engine.  When  his  friend  asked,  "  Why  did  not 
you  change  places  with  your  vis-d-vis  ?  "  the  baron 
replied,  "  How  could  I  ?  I  had  no  vis-d-vis"  Lover's 
heroes  "  liked  action,  but  they  hated  work  "  :  the 
philosophy  of  thriftlessness  is  summed  up  to  perfection 
in  "  Paddy's  Pastoral  "  :— 

"  Here's  a  health  to  you,  my  darlin', 
Though  I'm.  not  worth  a  farthin'  ; 
For  when  I'm  drunk  I  think  I'm  rich, 
I've  a  featherbed  in  every  ditch  !  " 

For  all  his  kindliness  Lover  laid  too  much  stress  on 
this  happy-go-lucky  fecklessness  to  minister  to  Irish  self- 
respect.  His  pictures  of  Irish  life  were  based  on  limited 
experience  ;  in  so  far  as  they  are  true,  they  recall  and 
emphasise  traits  which  many  patriotic  Irishmen  wish 
to  forget  or  eliminate.  An  age  which  has  witnessed 
the  growth  of  Irish  Agricultural  Co-operation  is  intolerant 
of  a  novelist  who  for  the  most  part  represents  his  country- 
men as  diverting  idiots,  and  therefore  we  prefer  to 
represent  him  in  this  volume  by  "  The  Little  Weaver," 
one  of  those  mock  heroic  tales  in  which  Irishmen  have 
excelled  from  his  day  to  that  of  Edmund  Downey.  No 
better  example  could  be  given  of  his  easy  flow  of  humour 
in  genuine  Hiberno-English  or  of  his  shrewd  portraiture 
of  such  simple  types  of  Irish  peasant  character. 

The  case  of  Le  Fanu  is  peculiar.  His  best-known 
novels  had  no  specially  characteristic  Irish  flavour. 
But  his  sombre  talent  was  lit  by  intermittent  flashes  of 
the  wildest  hilarity,  and  it  was  in  this  mood  that  the 


X  INTRODUCTION. 

author  of  "  Uncle  Silas  "  and  "  Carmilla  "  wrote  "  The 
Quare  Gandher "  and  "  Billy  Malowney's  Taste  of 
Love  and  Glory,"  two  of  the  most  brilliantly  comic 
extravaganzas  which  were  ever  written  by  an  Irishman, 
and  which  no  one  but  an  Irishman  could  ever  have 
written. 

There  is  no  Salic  Law  in  letters,  and  since  the  deaths 
of  Lever  and  Le  Fanu  the  sceptre  of  the  realm  of  Irish 
fiction  has  passed  to  women.  But  the  years  between 
1870  and  1890  were  not  propitious  for  humorists,  and  the 
admirable  work  of  the  late  Miss  Emily  Lawless,  who  had 
already  made  her  mark  in  "  Hurrish  "  before  the  latter 
date,  does  not  fall  within  the  present  survey.  The  same 
remark  applies  to  Mrs.  Hartley,  but  there  is  a  fine  sense 
of  humour  in  the  delicate  idylls  of  Miss  Jane  Barlow, 
twice  represented  in  this  volume. 

By  far  the  most  widely  read  Irish  novelist  between 
1880  and  1900  was  the  late  Mrs.  Hungerford,  the 
author  of  "  Molly  Bawn  "  and  a  score  of  other  blameless 
romances  which  almost  rivalled  "  The  Rosary "  in 
luscious  sentimentality.  The  scenes  of  her  stories 
were  generally  laid  in  Ireland,  and  the  stories  themselves 
were  almost  invariably  concerned  with  the  courtship 
of  lovely  but  impecunious  maidens  by  eligible  and 
affluent  youths.  No  one  in  Mrs.  Hungerford 's  novels  ever 
seemed  to  have  any  work  to  do.  The  characters  lived  in 
a  paradise  of  unemployment,  and  this  possibly  accounts 
for  Mrs.  Hungerford's  immense  popularity  in  America, 
where  even  the  most  indolent  immigrants  become  infected 
with  a  passion  for  hard  work.  In  the  quality  of  gush 
she  was  unsurpassed,  but  her  good  nature  and  her  frank 
delight  in  her  characters  made  her  absurdity  engaging. 
Sentiment  was  her  ruling  passion  ;  she  did  no  more 


INTRODUCTION.  XI 

than  scrape  the  surface  of  Irish  social  life  ;  and  she  had 
no  humour  but  good  humour.  But  she  had  not  enough 
of  literary  quality  to  entitle  her  work  to  rank  beside  that 
of  the  other  women  writers  represented  in  this  volume. 

The  literary  partnership  of  Miss  Edith  Somerville  and 
Miss  Violet  Martin — the  most  brilliantly  successful 
example  of  creative  collaboration  in  our  times — began 
with  "  An  Irish  Cousin  "  in  1889.  Published  over  the 
pseudonyms  of  "  Geilles  Herring  "  and  "  Martin  Ross," 
this  delightful  story  is  remarkable  not  only  for  its  promise, 
afterwards  richly  fulfilled,  but  for  its  achievement. 
The  writers  proved  themselves  the  possessors  of  a  strange 
faculty  of  detachment  which  enabled  them  to  view 
the  humours  of  Irish  life  through  the  unfamiliar  eyes 
of  a  stranger  without  losing  their  own  sympathy.  They 
were  at  once  of  the  life  they  described  and  outside  it. 
They  showed  a  laudable  freedom  from  political 
partisanship  ;  a  minute  familiarity  with  the  manners 
and  customs  of  all  strata  of  Irish  Society  ;  an  unerring 
instinct  for  the  "  sovran  word  ; "  a  perfect  mastery  of 
the  Anglo-Irish  dialect  ;  and  an  acute  yet  well-controlled 
sense  of  the  ludicrous.  The  heroine  accurately  describes 
the  concourse  on  the  platform  of  a  small  country  station 
as  having  "  all  the  appearance  of  a  large  social  gathering 
or  conversazione,  the  carriages  being  filled,  not  by  those 
who  were  starting,  but  by  their  friends  who  had  come  to 
see  them  off."  When  she  went  to  a  county  ball  in 
Cork  she  discovered  to  her  dismay  that  all  her  partners 
were  named  either  Beamish  or  Barrett  : — 

"  Had  it  not  been  for  Willy's  elucidation  of  its  mysteries,  I  should 
have  thrown  away  my  card  in  despair.  '  No  ;  not  him.  That's 
Long  Tom  Beamish  !  It's  English  Tommy  you've  to  dance  with 
next.  They  call  him  English  Tommy  because,  when  his  Militia 
regiment  was  ordered  to  Aldershot,  he  said  he  was  '  the  first  of  his 
ancestors  that  was  ever  sent  on  foreign  service.'  ...  I  carried 


Xli  INTRODUCTION. 

for  several  days  the  bruises  which  I  received  during  my  waltz  with 
English  Tommy.  It  consisted  chiefly  of  a  series  of  short  rushes, 
of  so  shattering  a  character  that  I  at  last  ventured  to  suggest  a 
less  aggressive  mode  of  progression.  '  Well,'  said  English  Tommy 
confidentially,  '  ye  see,  I'm  trying  to  bump  Katie,'  pointing^  to  a 
fat  girl  in  blue.  '  She's  my  cousin,  and  we're  for  ever  fighting.'  " 

As  a  set-off  to  this  picture  of  the  hilarious  informality 
of  high  life  in  Cork  twenty-five  years  ago,  there  is  a 
wonderful  study  of  a  cottage  interior,  occupied  by  a 
very  old  man,  his  daughter-in-law,  three  children,  two 
terriers,  a  cat,  and  a  half-plucked  goose.  The  conver- 
sation between  Willy  Sarsfield — who  foreshadows  Flurry 
Knox  in  "  Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish  R.M."  by  his 
mingled  shrewdness  and  naivete — and  Mrs.  Sweeny 
is  a  perfect  piece  of  realism. 

"  Mrs.  Sweeny  was  sitting  on  a  kind  of  rough  settle,  between  the 
other  window  and  the  door  of  an  inner  room.  She  was  a  stout, 
comfortable  woman  of  about  forty,  with  red  hair  and  quick  blue 
eyes,  that  roved  round  the  cabin,  and  silenced  with  a  glance  the 
occasional  whisperings  that  rose  from  the  children.  '  And  how's 
the  one  that  had  the  bad  cough  ?  '  asked  Willy,  pursuing  his 
conversation  with  her  with  his  invariable  ease  and  dexterity. 
'  Honor  her  name  is,  isn't  it  ?  ' — '  See,  now,  how  well  he  remembers  !  ' 
replied  Mrs.  Sweeny.  '  Indeed,  she's  there  back  in  the  room,  lyin' 
these  three  days.  Faith,  I  think  'tis  like  the  decline  she  have, 
Masther  Willy.' — '  Did  you  get  the  Doctor  to  her  ?  '  said  Willy. 
'  I'll  give  you  a  ticket,  if  you  haven't  one.' — '  Oh,  indeed,  Docthor 
Kelly's  afther  givin'  her  a  bottle,  but  shure  I  wouldn't  let  her  put  it 
into  her  mouth  at  all.  God-knows  what'd  be  in  it.  Wasn't  I  afther 
throwin'  a  taste  of  it  on  the  fire  to  thry  what'd  it  do,  and  Phitz  ! 
says  it,  and  up  with  it  up  the  chimbley  !  Faith,  I'd  be  in  dread 
to  give  it  to  the  child.  Shure,  if  it  done  that  in  the  fire,  what'd 
it  do  in  her  inside  ? — '  Well,  you're  a  greater  fool  than  I  thought  you 
were,'  said  Willy,  politely. — '  Maybe  I  am,  faith,'  replied  Mrs. 
Sweeny,  with  a  loud  laugh  of  enjoyment.  '  But,  if  she's  for  dyin', 
the  crayture,  she'll  die  aisier  without  thim  thrash  of  medicines  ; 
and  if  she's  for  livin',  'tisn't  thrusting  to  them  she'll  be.  Shure, 

God   is  good,  God  is  good '— '  Divil  a  betther  !  '    interjected 

old  Sweeny,  unexpectedly.  It  war  the  first  time  he  had  spoken, 
and  having  delivered  himself  of  this  trenchant  observation,  he 
relapsed  into  silence  and  the  smackings  at  his  pipe." 

But  the  tragic  note  is  sounded  in  the  close  of  "An 
Irish  Cousin  "—Miss  Martin  and  Miss  Somerville  have 


INTRODUCTION.  Xlil 

never  lost  sight  of  the  abiding  dualism  enshrined  in 
Moore's  verse  "  Erin,  the  tear  and  the  smile  in  thine  eyes  " 
— and  it  dominates  their  next  novel,  "  Naboth's  Vine- 
yard," published  in  1891,  a  sombre  romance  of  the  Land 
League  days.  Three  years  later  they  reached  the  summit 
of  their  achievement  in  "  The  Real  Charlotte,"  which 
still  remains  their  masterpiece,  though  easily  eclipsed 
in  popularity  by  the  irresistible  drollery  of  "  Some 
Experiences  of  an  Irish  R.M."  To  begin  with,  it  does 
not  rely  on  the  appeal  to  hunting  people  which  in  their 
later  work  won  the  heart  of  the  English  sportsman. 
It  is  a  ruthlessly  candid  study  of  Irish  provincial  and 
suburban  life  ;  of  the  squalors  of  middle-class  house- 
holds ;  of  garrison  hacks  and  "  underbred,  fmespoken," 
florid  squireens.  But  secondly  and  chiefly  it  repels 
the  larger  half  of  the  novel-reading  public  by  the  fact 
that  two  women  have  here  dissected  the  heart  of  one 
of  their  sex  in  a  mood  of  unrelenting  realism.  While 
pointing  out  the  pathos  and  humiliation  of  the  thought 
that  a  soul  can  be  stunted  by  the  trivialities  of  personal 
appearance,  they  own  to  having  set  down  Charlotte 
Mullen's  many  evil  qualities  "  without  pity."  They 
approach  their  task  in  the  spirit  of  Balzac.  The  book, 
as  we  shall  see,  is  extraordinarily  rich  in  both  wit  and 
humour,  but  Charlotte,  who  cannot  control  her  mling 
passion  of  avarice  even  in  a  death  chamber,  might  have 
come  straight  out  of  the  pages  of  the  Comtdie  Humaine. 
Masking  her  greed,  her  jealousy  and  her  cruelty  under 
a  cloak  of  loud  affability  and  ponderous  persiflage,  she 
was  a  perfect  specimen  of  the  fausse  bonne  jemme.  Only 
her  cats  could  divine  the  strange  workings  of  her  mind  : 

"  The  movements  of  Charlotte's  character,  for  it  cannot  be  said  to 
possess  the  power  of  development,  were  akin  to  those  of  some  amphi- 
bious thing  whose  strong  darting  course  under  the  water  is  only 


XIV  INTRODUCTION. 

marked  by  a  bubble  or  two.  and  it  required  almost  an  animal  instinct 
to  note  them.  Every  bubble  betrayed  the  creature  below,  as  well  as 
the  limitations  of  its  power  of  hiding  itself,  but  people  never  thought 
of  looking  out  for  these  indications  in  Charlotte,  or  even  suspected 
that  she  had  anything  to  conceal.  There  was  an  almost  blatant 
simplicity  about  her,  a  humorous  rough-and -readiness  which, 
joined  to  her  literary  culture,  proved  business  capacity,  and  her 
dreaded  temper,  seemed  to  leave  no  room  for  any  further  aspect, 
least  of  all  of  a  romantic  kind." 

Yet  romance  of  a  sort  was  at  the  root  of  Charlotte's 
character.  She  had  been  in  love  with  Roddy  Lambert, 
a  showy,  handsome,  selfish  squireen,  before  he  married 
for  money.  She  had  disguised  her  tenderness  under 
a  bluff  camaraderie  during  his  first  wife's  lifetime,  and 
hastened  Mrs.  Lambert's  death  by  inflaming  her 
suspicions  of  Roddy's  fidelity.  It  was  only  when 
Charlotte  was  again  foiled  by  Lambert's  second  marriage 
to  her  own  niece  that  her  love  was  turned  to  gall,  and  she 
plotted  to  compass  his  ruin. 

The  authors  deal  faithfully  with  Francie  FitzPatrick, 
Charlotte's  niece,  but  an  element  of  compassion  mingles 
with  their  portraiture.  Charlotte  had  robbed  Francie 
of  a  legacy,  and  compounded  with  her  conscience  by 
inviting  the  girl  to  stay  with  her  at  Lismoyle.  Any 
change  was  a  god -send  to  poor  Francie,  who,  being  an 
orphan,  lived  in  Dublin  with  another  aunt,  a  kindly  but 
feckless  creature  whose  eyes  were  not  formed  to  perceive 
dirt  nor  her  nose  to  apprehend  smells,  and  whose  ideas 
of  economy  was  "  to  indulge  in  no  extras  of  soap  or 
scrubbing  brushes,  and  to  feed  her  family  on  strong  tea 
and  indifferent  bread  and  butter,  in  order  that  Ida's  and 
Mabel's  hats  might  be  no  whit  less  ornate  than  those 
of  their  neighbours."  In  this  dingy  household  Francie 
had  grown  up,  lovely  as  a  Dryad,  brilliantly  indifferent 
to  the  serious  things  of  life,  with  a  deplorable  Dublin 


INTRODUCTION.  XV 

accent,  ingenuous,  unaffected  and  inexpressibly  vulgar. 
She  captivates  men  of  all  sorts  :  Roddy  Lambert,  who 
lunched  on  hot  beefsteak  pie  and  sherry  ;  Mr.  Hawkins, 
an  amorous  young  soldier,  who  treated  her  with  a 
bullying  tenderness  and  jilted  her  for  an  English  heiress  ; 
and  Christopher  Dysart,  a  scholar,  a  gentleman,  and  the 
heir  to  a  baronetcy,  who  was  ruined  by  self-criticism 
and  diffidence.  Francie  respected  Christopher  and 
rejected  him  ;  was  thrown  over  by  Hawkins,  whom 
she  loved  ;  and  married  Roddy  Lambert,  her  motives 
being  "  poverty,  aimlessness,  bitterness  of  soul  and 
instinctive  leniency  towards  any  man  who  liked  her." 
Francie  had  already  exasperated  Charlotte  by  refusing 
Christopher  Dysart :  by  marrying  Lambert  she  dealt 
a  death-blow  to  her  hopes  and  drove  her  into  the  path 
of  vengeance. 

But  the  story  is  not  only  engrossing  as  a  study  of 
vulgarity  that  is  touched  with  pathos,  of  the  vindictive 
jealousy  of  unsunned  natures,  of  the  cowardice  of  the 
selfish  and  the  futility  of  the  intellectually  effete.  It 
is  a  treasure-house  of  good  sayings,  happy  comments, 
ludicrous  incidents.  When  Francie  returned  to  Dublin 
we  read  how  one  of  her  cousins,  "  Dottie,  unfailing 
purveyor  of  diseases  to  the  family,  had  imported 
German  measles  from  her  school."  When  Charlotte, 
nursing  her  wrath,  went  to  inform  the  servant  at  Lambert's 
house  of  the  return  of  her  master  with  his  new  wife,  the 
servant  inquired  "  with  cold  resignation "  whether  it 
was  the  day  after  to-morrow  : — 

'  '  It  is,  me  poor  woman,  it  is,'  replied  Charlotte,  in  the  tone  of 

facetious  intimacy  that  she  reserved  for  other  people's  servants. 

'  You'll  have  to  stir  your  stumps  to  get  the  house  ready  for  them.' 

-'  The  house  is  cleaned  down  and  ready  for  them  as  soon  as  they 

like  to  walk  into  it,'  replied  Eliza  Hackett,  with  dignity,  '  and  if 


XVI  INTRODUCTION. 

the  new  lady  faults  the  drawing-room  chimbley  for  not  being  swep, 
the  master  will  know  it's  not  me  that's  to  blame  for  it,  but  the  sweep 
that's  gone  dhrilling  with  the  Mileetia.'  " 

Each  of  the  members  of  the  Dysart  family  is  hit  off 
in  some  memorable  phrase ;  Sir  Benjamin,  the  old 
and  irascible  paralytic,  "  who  had  been  struck  down  on 
his  son's  coming  of  age  by  a  paroxysm  of  apoplectic 
jealousy  "  ;  the  admirable  and  unselfish  Pamela  with  her 
"  pleasant  anxious  voice  "  ;  Christopher,  who  believed 
that  if  only  he  could  "  read  the  '  Field,'  and  had  a  more 
spontaneous  habit  of  cursing,"  he  would  be  an  ideal 
country  gentleman  ;  and  Lady  Dysart,  who  was  "  a 
clever  woman,  a  renowned  solver  of  acrostics  in  her  society 
paper,  and  a  holder  of  strong  opinions  as  to  the  prophetic 
meaning  of  the  Pyramids."  With  her  "a  large  yet 
refined  bonhomie  "  took  the  place  of  tact,  but  being  an 
Englishwoman  she  was  "  constitutionally  unable  to 
discern  perfectly  the  subtle  grades  of  Irish  vulgarity." 
Sometimes  the  authors  throw  away  the  scenario  for  a 
whole  novel  in  a  single  paragraph,  as  in  this  compressed 
summary  of  the  antecedents  of  Captain  Cursiter  : 

"  Captain  Cursiter  was  '  getting  on  '  as  captains  go,  and  he  was 
the  less  disposed  to  regard  his  junior  s  love  affairs  with  an  indulgent 
eye,  in  that  he  had  himself  served  a  long  and  difficult  apprenticeship 
in  such  matters,  and  did  not  feel  that  he  had  profited  much  by  his 
experiences.  It  had  happened  to  him  at  an  early  age  to  enter 
ecstatically  into  the  house  of  bondage,  and  in  it  he  had  remained  with 
eyes  gradually  opening  to  its  drawbacks  until,  a  few  years  before, 
the  death  of  the  only  apparent  obstacle  to  his  happiness  had  brought 
him  face  to  face  with  its  realisation.  Strange  to  say,  when  this 
supreme  moment  arrived,  Captain  Cursiter  was  disposed  for  further 
delay  ;  but  it  shows  the  contrariety  of  human  nature,  that  when  he 
found  himself  superseded  by  his  own  subaltern,  an  habitually 
inebriated  viscount,  he  committed  the  imbecility  of  horsewhipping 
him  ;  and  finding  it  subsequently  advisable  to  leave  his  regiment, 
he  exchanged  into  the  infantry  with  the  settled  conviction  that 
all  women  were  liars." 

Nouns  and  verbs  are  the  bones  and  sinews  of  style ; 
it  is  in  the  use  of  epithets  and  adjectives  that  the  artist  is 


INTRODUCTION.  XV11 

shown  ;  and  Miss  Martin  and  Miss  Somerville  never 
make  a  mistake.  An  episode  in  the  life  of  one  of 
Charlotte's  pets — a  cockatoo — is  described  as  occurring 
when  the  bird  was  "  a  sprightly  creature  of  some  twenty 
shrieking  summers."  We  read  of  cats  who  stared 
"with  the  expressionless  but  wholly  alert  scrutiny  of 
their  race  "  ;  of  the  "  difficult  revelry  "  of  Lady  Dysart's 
garden  party  when  the  men  were  in  a  hopeless  minority 
and  the  more  honourable  women  sat  on  a  long  bench  in 
"  midge-bitten  dulness."  Such  epithets  are  not 
decorative,  they  heighten  the  effect  of  the  picture. 
Where  adjectives  are  not  really  needed,  Miss  Martin 
and  Miss  Somerville  can  dispense  with  them  altogether 
and  yet  attain  a  deadly  precision,  as  when  they  describe 
an  Irish  beggar  as  "  a  bundle  of  rags  with  a  cough  in  it," 
or  note  a  characteristic  trait  of  Roddy  Lambert  by 
observing  that "  he  was  a  man  in  whom  jealousy  took  the 
form  of  reviling  the  object  of  his  affections,  if  by  so  doing 
he  could  detach  his  rivals." — a  modern  instance  of 
"  displiceas  aliis,  sic  ego  tutus  ero."  When  Roddy 
Lambert  went  away  after  his  first  wife's  funeral  we  learn 
that  he  "  honeymooned  with  his  grief  in  the  approved 
fashion."  These  felicities  abound  on  every  page ; 
while  the  turn  of  phrase  of  the  peasant  speech  is  caught 
with  a  fidelity  which  no  other  Irish  writer  has  ever 
surpassed.  When  Judy  Lee,  a  poor  old  woman  who  had 
taken  an  unconscionable  time  in  dying  was  called  by 
one  of  the  gossips  who  had  attended  her  wake  "  as  nice 
a  woman  as  ever  threw  a  tub  of  clothes  on  the  hills," 
and  complimented  for  having  "  battled  it  out  well," 
Norry  the  Boat  replied  sardonically  : — 

"  Faith,  thin,  an'  if  she  did  die  itself  she  was  in  the  want  of  it ; 
sure,  there  isn't  a  winther  since  her  daughther  wint  to  America 


xviii  INTRODUCTION. 

that  she  wasn't  anointed  a  couple  of  times.  I'm  thinking  the  people 
th'  other  side  o'  death  will  be  throuncin'  her  for  keepin'  them 
waitin'  on  her  this  way." 

Humour  is  never  more  effective  than  when  it  emerges 
from  a  serious  situation.  Tragedy  jostles  comedy  in 
life,  and  the  greatest  dramatists  and  romancers  have 
made  wonderful  use  of  this  abrupt  alternation.  There 
are  many  painful  and  diverting  scenes  in  "  The  Real 
Charlotte,"  but  none  in  which  both  elements  are  blended 
so  effectively  as  the  story  of  Julia  Duffy's  last  pilgrimage. 
Threatened  with  eviction  from  her  farm  by  the  covetous 
intrigues  of  Charlotte,  she  leaves  her  sick  bed  to  appeal 
to  her  landlord,  and  when  half  dead  with  fatigue  falls 
in  with  the  insane  Sir  Benjamin,  to  be  driven  away  with 
grotesque  insults.  On  her  way  home  she  calls  in  at 
Charlotte's  house,  only  to  find  Christopher  Dysart 
reading  Rossetti's  poems  to  Francie  FitzPatrick,  who 
has  just  timidly  observed,  in  reply  to  her  instructor's 
remark  that  the  hero  is  a  pilgrim,  "  I  know  a  lovely  song 
called  '  The  Pilgrim  of  Love  '  ;  of  course,  it  wasn't  the 
same  thing  as  what  you  were  reading,  but  it  was  awfully 
nice,  too."  This  interlude  is  intensely  ludicrous,  but 
its  cruel  incongruity  only  heightens  the  misery  of  what 
has  gone  before  and  what  follows. 

"  The  Silver  Fox,"  which  appeared  in  1897,  need  not 
detain  us  long,  though  it  is  a  little  masterpiece  in  its 
way,  vividly  contrasting  the  limitations  of  the  sport- 
loving  temperament  with  the  ineradicable  superstitions 
of  the  Irish  peasantry.  Impartial  as  ever,  the  authors 
have  here  achieved  a  felicity  of  phrase  to  which  no  other 
writers  of  hunting  novels  have  ever  approached. 
Imagination's  widest  stretch  cannot  picture  Surtees 
or  Mr.  Nat  Gould  describing  an  answer  being  given 
"  with  that  level  politeness  of  voice  which  is  the  distilled 


INTRODUCTION  XIX 

essence  of  a  perfected  anger,"  or  comparing  a  fashionable 
Amazon  with  the  landscape  in  such  words  as  these  : — 

"  Behind  her  the  empty  window  framed  a  gaunt  mountain  peak, 
a  lake  that  frittered  a  myriad  of  sparkles  from  its  wealth  of  restless 
silver,  and  the  gray  and  faint  purple  of  the  naked  wood  beyond 
it.  It  seemed  too  great  a  background  for  her  powdered  cheek  and 
her  upward  glances  at  her  host." 

But  the  atmosphere  of  "  The  Silver  Fox  "  is  sombre, 
and  a  sporting  novel  which  is  at  once  serious  and  of  a 
fine  literary  quality  must  necessarily  appeal  to  a  limited 
audience.  The  problem  is  solved  to  perfection  in 
"  Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish  R.M.,"  a  series  of 
loosely-knit  episodes  which,  after  running  a  serial 
course  in  the  "  Badminton  Magazine,"  were  republished 
in  book  form  towards  the  close  of  1899.  There  is  only 
one  chapter  to  cloud  the  otherwise  unintermittent 
hilarity  of  the  whole  recital.  The  authors  have  dispensed 
with  comment,  and  rely  chiefly  on  dialogue,  incident,  and 
their  intimate  and  precise  knowledge  of  horses,  and  horse- 
copers  of  both  sexes.  An  interested  devotion  to  the 
noble  animal  is  here  shown  to  be  the  last  infirmity  of 
noble  minds,  for  old  Mrs.  Knox,  with  the  culture  of  a 
grande  dame  and  the  appearance  of  a  refined  scarecrow, 
went  cub-hunting  in  a  bath  chair.  In  such  a  company 
a  young  sailor  whose  enthusiasm  for  the  chase  had  been 
nourished  by  the  hirelings  of  Malta,  and  his  eye  for  points 
probably  formed  on  circus  posters,  had  little  chance  of 
making  a  good  bargain  at  Drumcurran  horse  fair  : — 

"  '  The  fellow's  asking  forty-five  pounds  for  her,'  said  Bernard 
Shute  to  Miss  Sally  ;  '  she's  a  nailer  to  gallop.  I  don't  think  it's  too 
much.' — '  Her  grandsire  was  the  Mountain  Hare,'  said  the  owner 
of  the  mare,  hurrying  up  to  continue  her  family  history,  '  and  he 
was  the  grandest  horse  in  the  four  baronies.  He  was  forty-two  years 
of  age  when  he  died,  and  they  waked  him  the  same  as  ye'd  wake  a 
Christian.  They  had  whisky  and  porther — and  bread — and  a  piper 


XX  INTRODUCTION. 

in  it;'  — '  Thim  Mountain  Hare  colts  is  no  great  things,'  interrupted 
Mr.  Shute's  groom,  contemptuously.  '  I  seen  a  colt  once  that  was 
one  of  his  stock,  and  if  there  was  forty  men  and  their  wives,  and  they 
after  him  with  sticks,  he  wouldn't  lep  a  sod  of  turf.' — '  Lep,  is  it !  ' 
ejaculated  the  owner  in  a  voice  shrill  with  outrage.  '  You  may  lead 
that  mare  out  through  the  counthry,  and  there  isn't  a  fence  in  it 
that  she  wouldn't  go  up  to  it  as  indepindent  as  if  she  was  going  to 
her  bed,  and  your  honour's  ladyship  knows  that  dam  well,  Miss 
Knox.' — '  You  want  too  much  money  for  her,  McCarthy,'  returned 
Miss  Sally,  with  her  air  of  preternatural  wisdom.  '  God  pardon 
you,  Miss  Knox  1  Sure  a  lady  like  you  knows  well  that  forty-five 
pounds  is  no  money  for  that  mare.  Forty-five  pounds  1  '  He 
laughed.  '  It'd  be  as  good  for  me  to  make  her  a  present  to  the  gentle- 
man all  out  as  take  three  farthings  less  for  her  !  She's  too  grand 
entirely  for  a  poor  farmer  like  me,  and  if  it  wasn't  for  the  long, 
weak  family  I  have,  I  wouldn't  part  with  her  under  twice  the 
money.'—'  Three  fine  lumps  of  daughters  in  America  paying  his 
rent  for  him,'  commented  Flurry  in  the  background.  '  That's 
the  long,  weak  family.'  " 

The  turn  of  phrase  in  Irish  conversation  has  never 
been  reproduced  in  print  with  greater  fidelity,  and  there 
is  hardly  a  page  in  the  book  without  some  characteristic 
Hibernianism  such  as  "  Whisky  as  pliable  as  new  milk,  " 
or  the  description  of  a  horse  who  was  a  "  nice,  flippant 
jumper,"  or  a  bandmaster  who  was  "  a  thrifle  fulsome 
after  his  luncheon,"  or  a  sweep  who  "  raised  tallywack 
and  tandem  all  night  round  the  house  to  get  at  the 
chimbleys."  The  narrative  reaches  its  climax  in  the 
chapter  which  relates  the  exciting  incidents  of  Lisheen 
races  at  second-hand.  Major  Yeates  and  his  egregious 
English  visitor  Mr.  Leigh  Kelway,  an  earnest  Radical 
publicist,  having  failed  to  reach  the  scene,  are  sheltering 
from  the  rain  in  a  wayside  public-house  where  they  are 
regaled  with  an  account  of  the  races  by  Slipper,  the 
dissipated  but  engaging  huntsman  of  the  local  pack  of 
hounds.  The  close  of  the  meeting  was  a  steeplechase 
in  which  "  Bocock's  owld  mare,"  ridden  by  one  Driscoll, 
was  matched  against  a  horse  ridden  by  another  local 
sportsman  named  Clancy,  and  Slipper,  who  favoured 


INTRODUCTION.  XXI 

Driscoll,  and  had  taken  up  his  position  at  a  convenient 
spot  on  the  course,  thus  describes  his  mode  of  en- 
couraging the  mare  : 

"  '  Skelp  her,  ye  big  brute  I  '  says  I.  '  What  good's  in  ye  that 
ye  aren't  able  to  skelp  her  ?'  ...  Well,  Mr.  Flurry,  and  gintlemen. 
...  I  declare  to  ye  when  owld  Bocock's  mare  heard  thim  roars 
she  stretched  out  her  neck  like  a  gandher,  and  when  she  passed 
me  out  she  give  a  couple  of  grunts  and  looked  at  me  as  ugly  as  a 
Christian.  '  Hah  !  '  says  I,  givin'  her  a  couple  o'  dhraws  o'  th' 
ash  plant  across  the  butt  o'  the  tail,  the  way  I  wouldn't  blind  her, 
'  I'll  make  ye  grunt  ! '  says  I,  '  I'll  nourish  ye  I'  I  knew  well  she 
was  very  frightful  of  th'  ash  plant  since  the  winter  Tomineen 
Sullivan  had  her  under  a  sidecar.  But  now,  in  place  of  havin'  any 
obligations  to  me,  ye'd  be  surprised  if  ye  heard  the  blaspheemious 
expressions  of  that  young  boy  that  was  riding  her  ;  and  whether  it 
was  over-anxious  he  was,  turning  around  the  way  I'd  hear  him 
cursin',  or  whether  it  was  some  slither  or  slide  came  to  owld 
Bocock's  mare,  I  dunno,  but  she  was  bet  up  against  the  last 
obstackle  but  two,  and  before  you  could  say  '  Shnipes,'  she  was 
standin'  on  her  two  ears  beyant  in  th'  other  field  I  declare  to 
ye,  on  the  vartue  of  me  oath,  she  stood  that  way  till  she  recon- 
noithered  what  side  Driscoll  would  fall,  an'  she  turned  about  then 
and  rolled  on  him  as  cosy  as  if  he  was  meadow  grass  !  '  Slipper 
stopped  short ;  the  people  in  the  doorway  groaned  appreciatively  ; 
Mary  Kate  murmured  '  The  Lord  save  us  '-  — '  The  blood  was  druv 
out  through  his  nose  and  ears,'  continued  Slipper,  with  a  voice 
that  indicated  the  cream  of  the  narration,  '  and  you'd  hear  his 
bones  crackin'  on  the  ground  !  You'd  have  pitied  the  poor  boy.' — 
'  Good  heavens  !  '  said  I<eigh  Kelway,  sitting  up  very  straight  in 
his  chair.  '  Was  he  hurt,  Slipper  ?  '  asked  Flurry,  casually.  '  Hurt 
is  it  ?  '  echoed  Slipper,  in  high  scorn,  killed  on  the  spot  !  '  He 
paused  to  relish  the  effect  of  the  denouement  on  Leigh  Kelway. 
'  Oh,  divil  so  pleasant  an  afthernoon  ever  you  seen  ;  and,  indeed, 
Mr.  Flurry,  it's  what  we  were  all  sayin',  it  was  a  great  pity  your 
honour  was  not  there  for  the  likin'  you  had  for  Driscoll.'  " 

Leigh  Kelway,  it  may  be  noted,  is  the  lineal  descendant 
of  the  pragmatic  English  under-secretary  in  "  Charles 
O'Malley,"  who,  having  observed  that  he  had  never 
seen  an  Irish  wake,  was  horrified  by  the  prompt  offer 
of  his  Galway  host,  a  notorious  practical  joker,  to 
provide  a  corpse  on  the  spot.  But  this  is  only  one 
of  the  instances  of  parallelism  in  which  the  later  writers 


Xxil  INTRODUCTION. 

though  showing  far  greater  restraint  and  fidelity  to 
type,  have  illustrated  the  continuance  of  temperamental 
qualities  which  Lever  and  his  forerunner  Maxwell — the 
author  of  "  Wild  Sports  of  the  West  "—portrayed  in 
a  more  extravagant  form.  On  the  other  hand  it  would 
be  impossible  to  imagine  a  greater  contrast  than  that 
between  Lever's  thrasonical  narrator  heroes  and  Major 
Yeates,  R.M.,  whose  fondness  for  sport  is  allied  to  a 
thorough  consciousness  of  his  own  infirmities  as  a 
sportsman.  There  is  no  heroic  figure  in  "  Some 
Experiences  of  an  Irish  R.M.,"  but  the  characters  are 
all  lifelike,  and  at  least  half-a-dozen — "  Flurry  "  Knox; 
his  cousin  Sally,  and  his  old  grandmother,  Mrs.  Knox, 
of  Aussolas,  Slipper,  Mrs.  Cadogan,  and  the  incomparable 
Maria — form  as  integral  a  part  of  our  circle  of  acquaintance 
as  if  we  had  known  them  in  real  life.  "  The  Real 
Charlotte  "  is  a  greater  achievement,  but  the  R.M.  is 
a  surer  passport  to  immortality. 

The  further  instalment  of  "  Experiences,"  published 
a  few  years  later  did  not  escape  the  common  lot  of 
sequels.  They  were  brilliantly  written,  but  one  was 
more  conscious  of  the  excellence  of  the  manner  than  in 
any  of  their  other  works  The  two  volumes  of  short 
stories  and  sketches  published  in  1903  and  1906  under 
the  titles  of  "  All  on  the  Irish  Shore"  and  some  "  Irish 
Yesterdays  "  respectively  show  some  new  and  engaging 
aspects  of  the  genius  of  the  collaborators.  There  is 
a  chapter  called  "  Children  of  the  Captivity,"  in  which 
the  would-be  English  humorist's  conception  of  Irish 
humour  is  dealt  with  faithfully — as  it  deserves  to  be. 
The  essay  is  also  remarkable  for  the  passage  in  which 
they  set  down  once  and  for  all  the  true  canons  for  the 
treatment  of  dialect.  Pronunciation  and  spelling,  as 


INTRODUCTION.  XX111 

they  point  out,  are,  after  all,  of  small  account  in  its 
presentment : — 

"  The  vitalising  power  is  in  the  rhythm  of  the  "sentence,  the  turn 
of  phrase,  the  knowledge  of  idiom,  and  of,  beyond  all,  the  attitude 
of  mind.  .  .  .  The  shortcoming  is,  of  course,  trivial  to  those 
who  do  not  suffer  because  of  it,  but  want  of  perception  of  word 
and  phrase  and  turn  of  thought  means  more  than  mere  artistic 
failure,  it  means  want  of  knowledge  of  the  wayward  and  shrewd 
and  sensitive  minds  that  are  at  the  back  of  the  dialect.  The  very 
wind  that  blows  softly  over  brown  acres  of  bog  carries  perfumes 
and  sounds  that  England  does  not  know  ;  the  women  digging  the 
potato -land  are  talking  of  things  that  England  does  not  understand. 
The  question  that  remains  is  whether  England  will  ever  under- 
stand." 

The  hunting  sketches  in  these  volumes  include  the 
wonderful  "  Patrick  Day's  Hunt,"  which  is  a  master- 
piece in  the  high  bravura  of  the  brogue.  Another  is 
noticeable  for  a  passage  on  the  affection  inspired  by 
horses.  When  Johnny  Connolly  heard  that  his  mistress 
was  driven  to  sell  the  filly  he  had  trained  and  nursed  so 
carefully,  he  did  not  disguise  his  disappointment : 

'  '  Well,  indeed,  that's  too  bad,  miss,'  said  Johnny  compre- 
hendingly.  '  There  was  a  mare  I  had  one  time,  and  I  sold  her 
before  I  went  to  America.  God  knows,  afther  she  went  from  me, 
whenever  I'd  look  at  her  winkers  hanging  on  the  wall  I'd  have  to  cry. 
I  never  seen  a  sight  of  her  till  three  years  afther  that,  afther  I 
coming  home.  I  was  coming  out  o'  the  fair  at  Enniscar,  an'  I  was 
talking  to  a  man  an'  we  coming  down  Dangan  Hill,  and  what  was 
in  it  but  herself  coming  up  in  a  cart  !  An'  I  didn't  look  at  her,  good 
nor  bad,  nor  know  her,  but  sorra  bit  but  she  knew  me  talking,  an' 
she  turned  into  me  with  the  cart.  '  Ho,  ho,  ho  !  '  says  she,  and  she 
stuck  her  nose  into  me  like  she'd  be  kissing  me.  Be  dam,  but  I  had 
to  cry.  An'  the  world  wouldn't  stir  her  out  o'  that  till  I'd  lead  her 
on  meself.  As  for  cow  nor  dog  nor  any  other  thing,  there's  nothing 
would  rise  your  heart  like  a  horse  '  '  " 

And  if  horses  are  irresistible,  so  are  Centaurs.  That  is 
the  moral  to  be  drawn  from  "  Dan  Russel  the  Fox," 
the  latest  work  from  the  pen  of  Miss  Somerville  and  Miss 
Martin,  in  which  the  rival  claims  of  culture  and  fox- 
hunting are  subjected  to  a  masterly  analysis. 


XXIV  INTRODUCTION. 

The  joint  authors  of  the  "  R.M."  have  paid  forfeit 
for  achieving  popularity  by  being  expected  to  repeat 
their  first  resounding  success.  Happily  the  pressure 
of  popular  demand  has  not  impaired  the  artistic  excellence 
of  their  work,  though  we  cannot  help  thinking  that  if 
they  had  been  left  to  themselves  they  might  have  given 
us  at  least  one  other  novel  on  the  lines  of  "  The  Real 
Charlotte."  Their  later  work,  again,  has  been  subjected 
to  the  ordeal,  we  do  not  say  of  conscious  imitation,  but 
of  comparison  with  books  which  would  probably  have 
never  been  written  or  would  have  been  written 
on  another  plan,  but  for  the  success  of  the  "  R.M." 
To  regard  this  rivalry  as  serious  would  be,  in 
the  opinion  of  the  present  writer,  an  abnegation 
of  the  critical  faculty.  But  we  have  not  yet  done  with 
Irish  women  humorists.  Miss  Eleanor  Alexander,  the 
daughter  of  the  Poet  Archbishop  of  Armagh  and  his 
poet  wife  has  given  us  in  her  "  Lady  Anne's  Walk,"  a 
volume  of  a  genre  as  hard  to  define  as  it  has  been  easy  to 
welcome,  at  times  delicately  allusive,  now  daringly  funny 
— an  interblending  of  tender  reminiscences  and  lively 
fancy,  reminding  us  perhaps  most  of  old  Irish  music 
itself  with  its  sweet,  strange  and  sudden  changes  of 
mood.  Humorous  contrasts  of  the  kind  will  be  found 
in  the  chapter  entitled  "  Old  Tummus  and  the  Battle 
of  Scarva,"  printed  in  these  pages. 

Another  woman  contestant  for  humorous  literary 
honours  was  the  late  Miss  Charlotte  O'Conor  Eccles, 
represented  in  this  volume  by  the  moving  story  of 
"  King  William."  Her  "  Rejuvenation  of  Miss 
Semaphore  "  and  "A  Matrimonial  Lottery  "  achieved 
popularity  by  their  droll  situations  and  exuberant  fun, 
but  her  "  Aliens  of  the  West  "  contained  work  of  much 


INTRODUCTION.  XXV 

finer  quality.  She  lets  us  behind  the  shutters  of  Irish 
country  shop  life  in  a  most  convincing  manner,  and  the 
characters  drawn  from  her  Toomevara  are  as  true  to 
type  as  those  of  Miss  Barlow.  The  disillusionment 
of  Molly  Devine  "  The  Voteen,"  with  her  commonplace, 
not  to  say  vulgar  surroundings,  on  her  return  from  the 
convent  school  with  its  superior  refinements,  her  refusal 
to  marry  so-called  eligible,  but  to  her,  repulsive  suitors, 
encouraged  by  her  mother  and  stepfather  and  her  final 
resolve  to  become  a  nun  in  order  to  escape  further 
persecution  of  the  kind,  is  told  with  convincing  poignancy. 
A  variant  of  this  theme  is  treated  with  even  more  power 
and  pathos  in  "  Tom  Connolly's  Daughter,"  a  story 
which  we  should  like  to  see  reprinted  in  separate  form  as 
it  sets  one  thinking  furiously,  and  its  general  circulation 
might  do  much  to  correct  the  love  and  marriage  relations 
between  young  people  in  provincial  Ireland. 

And  yet  a  final  name  has  to  be  added  to  the  long  roll 
of  Irishwomen  who  have  won  distinction  as  writers  of 
fiction,  beginning  with  Miss  Edge  worth  whose  Irish 
writings  will  receive  separate  treatment  in  a  volume  in 
"  Every  Irishman's  Library"  at  the  hands  of  Mr.  Malcolm 
Cotter  Seton.  Championed  by  Canon  Hannay  himself, 
who  furnishes  a  genial,  whimsical,  provocative  intro- 
duction to  her  "  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm,"  Miss  Purdon 
there  describes  what,  from  the  point  of  view  of  romance, 
is  a  new  part  of  Ireland,  for  West  Leinster  is  a  land 
more  familiar  to  fox-hunters  than  to  poets.  Miss 
Purdon  has  plenty  of  independence,  but  it  is  not  the 
frigid  impartiality  of  the  student  who  contemplates 
the  vagaries  and  sufferings  of  human  nature  like  a 
connoisseur  or  collector.  She  shows  her  detachment 
by  giving  us  a  faithful  picture  of  Irish  peasant  society 


XXVI  INTRODUCTION. 

without  ever  once  breathing  a  syllable  of  politics,  or 
remotely  alluding  to  the  equipment  and  machinery  of 
modern  life.  The  dramatis  persona  are  all  simple  folk, 
most  of  them  poor  ;  the  entire  action  passes  within  a 
radius  of  a  few  miles  from  a  country  village  ;  and  only 
on  one  occasion,  and  at  second  hand  do  we  catch  so  much 
as  a  glimpse  of  "  the  quality."  Throughout,  Miss 
Purdon  relies  on  the  turn  of  the  phrase  to  give  the  spirit 
of  the  dialect,  and  uses  only  a  minimum  of  phonetic 
spelling. 

That  is  the  true  and  artistic  method.  But  Miss  Purdon 
is  much  more  than  a  collector  or  coiner  of  picturesque 
and  humorous  phrases  She  has  a  keen  eye  for  character, 
a  genuine  gift  of  description  and  a  vein  of  pure  and 
unaffected  sentiment ;  indeed,  her  whole  volume  is 
strangely  compounded  of  mirth  and  melancholy, 
though  the  dominant  impression  left  by  its  perusal 
is  one  of  confidence  in  the  essential  kindliness  of  Irish 
nature,  and  the  goodness  and  gentleness  of  Irish  women. 

But  so  far,  the  only  formidable  competitor  Miss  Martin 
and  Miss  Somerville  have  encountered  is  the  genial 
writer  who  chooses  to  veil  his  identity  under  the 
freakish  pseudonym  of  "  George  A.  Birmingham." 
Canon  Hannay — for  there  can  be  no  longer  any  breach 
of  literary  etiquette  in  alluding  to  him  by  his  real  name — 
had  already  made  his  mark  as  a  serious  or  semi-serious 
observer  of  the  conflicting  tendencies,  social  and 
political,  of  the  Ireland  of  to-day  before  he  diverged 
into  the  paths  of  fantastic  and  frivolous  comedy.  "  The 
Seething  Pot,"  "  Hyacinth,"  and  "  Benedict  Kavanagh  " 
are  extremely  suggestive  and  dispassionate  studies  of 
various  aspects  of  the  Irish  temperament,  but  it  is  enough 
for  our  present  purpose  to  note  the  consequences  of  a 


INTRODUCTION.  XXvii 

request  addressed  to  Canon  Hannay  by  two  young  ladies 
somewhere  about  the  year  1907  that  he  would  "  write  a 
story  about  treasure  buried  on  an  island."  The  fact  is 
recorded  in  the  dedication  of  "  Spanish  Gold,"  his 
response  to  the  appeal,  and  the  first  of  that  series  of 
jocund  extravaganzas  which  have  earned  for  him  the 
gratitude  of  all  who  regard  amusement  as  the  prime 
object  of  fiction. 

The  contrast  between  his  methods  and  those  of  the 
joint  authors  discussed  above  is  apparent  at  every  turn. 
He  maintains  the  impartiality  which  marked  his  serious 
novels  in  his  treatment  of  all  classes  of  the  community, 
but  it  is  the  impartiality  not  of  a  detached  and  self- 
effacing  observer,  but  of  a  genial  satirist.     His  knowledge 
of  the  Ireland  that  he  knows  is  intimate  and  precise,  and 
is  shown  by  a  multiplicity  of  illuminating  details  and  an 
effective  use  of  local  colour.   But  the  co-operation  of  non- 
Irish  characters  is  far  more  essential  to  the  development 
of  his  plots  than  in  the  case  of  the  novels    of    Miss 
Somerville  and  Miss  Martin.     The  mainspring  of  their 
stories  is  Irish  right  through.     Canon  Hannay  depends  on 
a  situation  which  might  have  occurred  just  as  well  in 
England    or    America,  while    employing  the  conditions 
of  Irish  life  to  give  it  a  characteristic  twist  or  series  of 
twists.     Even  his  most  notable  creation,  the  Reverend 
Joseph  John  Meldon,  is  too  restlessly  energetic  to  be 
an   altogether  typical  Irishman,  to  say  nothing  of  his 
unusual  attitude  in  politics  :   "  Nothing  on  earth  would 
induce  me  to   mix  myself  up  with  any  party."     An 
Irishman  of  immense  mental  activity,  living  in  Ireland, 
and   yet  wholly  unpolitical   is  something  of  a   freak. 
Again,  while  the  tone  of  his  books  is  admirably  clean  and 
wholesome,  and  while  his  frankly  avowed  distaste  for 


XXviii  INTRODUCTION. 

the  squalors  of  the  problem  novel  will  meet  with  general 
sympathy,  there  is  no  denying  that  his  treatment  of  the 
"  love  interest  "  is  for  the  most  part  perfunctory  or  even 
farcical.  Again,  in  regard  to  style,  he  differs  widely 
from  the  authors  of  the  "  R.M."  Their  note  is  a  vivid 
conciseness  ;  his  the  easy  charm  of  a  flowing  pen,  always 
unaffected,  often  picturesque  and  even  eloquent,  never 
offending,  but  seldom  practising  the  art  of  omission. 

But  it  is  ungrateful  to  subject  to  necessarily  damaging 
comparisons  an  author  to  whom  we  owe  the  swift  passage 
of  so  many  pleasant  hours.  It  might  be  hard  to  find 
the  exact  counterpart  of  "  J.  J."  in  the  flesh,  but  he  is 
none  the  less  an  unforgettable  person,  this  athletic, 
exuberant,  unkempt  curate,  unscrupulous  but  not 
unprincipled,  who  lied  fluently,  not  for  any  mean 
purpose,  but  for  the  joy  of  mystification,  or  in  order  to 
carry  out  his  plans,  or  justify  his  arguments.  His  strange 
friendship  with  Major  Kent,  a  retired  English  officer, 
a  natty  martinet,  presents  no  difficulties  on  the  principle 
of  extremes  meeting,  and  thus  from  the  start  we  are 
presented  with  the  spectacle  of  the  reluctant  but  helpless 
Major,  hypnotised  by  the  persuasive  tongue  of  the 
curate,  and  dragged  at  his  heels  into  all  sorts  of  grotesque 
and  humiliating  adventures,  and  all  for  the  sake  of  a 
quiet  life.  For  "  JJ.'s  "  methods,  based,  according 
to  his  own  account,  on  careful  observation  and  a  proper 
use  of  the  scientific  imagination,  involve  the  assumption 
by  his  reluctant  confederate  of  a  succession  of  entirely 
imaginary  roles. 

But  if  "  J.  J."  was  a  trying  ally,  he  was  a  still  more 
perplexing  antagonist,  one  of  his  favourite  methods  of 
"  scoring  off  "  an  opponent  being  to  represent  him  to  be 
something  other  than  he  really  was  to  third  persons. 


INTRODUCTION.  XXIX 

When  the  process  brings  the  curate  and  the  Major 
into  abrupt  conflict  with  two  disreputable  adventurers, 
he  defends  resort  to  extreme  methods  on  grounds  of 
high  morality.  Burglary,  theft  and  abduction  become 
the  simple  duty  of  every  well-disposed  person  when 
viewed  as  a  necessary  means  of  preventing  selfish, 
depraved  and  fundamentally  immoral  people  from 
acquiring  wealth  which  the  well-disposed  might  other- 
wise secure. 

"  JJ.'s  "  crowning  achievement  is  his  conquest  of 
Mr.  Willoughby,  the  Chief  Secretary,  by  a  masterly 
vindication  of  his  conduct  on  the  lines  of  Pragmatism  : 
"  a  statement  isn't  a  lie  if  it  proves  itself  in  actual  practice 
to  be  useful — it's  true."  "  J.  J."  only  once  meets  his 
match — in  Father  Mulcrone,  the  parish  priest  of  Inish- 
more,  who  sums  up  the  philosophy  of  government  in  his 
criticism  of  Mr.  Willoughby 's  successor  :  "  A  fellow  that 
starts  off  by  thinking  himself  clever  enough  to  know  what's 
true  and  what  isn't  will  do  no  good  for  Ireland.  A 
simple-hearted  innocent  kind  of  man  has  a  better  chance." 

Needless  to  say,  the  rival  treasure-hunters,  both  of 
them  rogues,  are  bested  at  all  points  by  the  two  padres, 
while  poetic  justice  is  satisfied  by  the  fact  that  the  treasure 
falls  into  the  adhesive  hands  of  the  poor  islanders,  and 
"  JJ.'s  "  general  integrity  is  fully  re-established  in  the 
epilogue,  where,  transplanted  to  an  English  colliery 
village,  he  devotes  his  energies  to  the  conversion  of 
agnostics,  blasphemers  and  wife-beaters. 

The  extravagance  of  the  plot  is  redeemed  by  the 
realism  of  the  details  ;  by  acute  sidelights  on  the  tortuous 
workings  of  the  native  mind,  with  its  strange  blending 
of  shrewdness  and  innocence  ;  by  faithful  reproductions 
of  the  talk  of  those  "  qui  amant  omnia  dubitantius  loqui  " 


XXX  INTRODUCTION. 

and  habitually  say  "  it  might  "  instead  of  "  yes."  And 
there  are  delightful  digressions  on  the  subject  of  relief 
works,  hits  at  the  Irish-speaking  movement,  pungent 
classifications  of  the  visitors  to  the  wild  West  of  Ireland, 
and  now,  and  again,  in  the  rare  moments  when  the 
author  chooses  to  be  serious,  passages  marked  by  fine 
insight  and  sympathy.  Such  is  the  picture  of  Thomas 
O'Flaherty  Pat,  the  patriarch  of  the  treasure  island  : 

"  An  elderly  man  and  five  out  of  the  nine  children  resident  on  the 
island  stood  on  the  end  of  the  pier  when  Meldon  and  the  Major 
landed.  The  man  was  clad  in  a  very  dirty  white  flannel  jacket  and 
a  pair  of  yellowish  flannel  trousers,  which  hung  in  a  tattered  fringe 
round  his  naked  feet  and  ankles  He  had  a  long  white  beard  and 
grey  hair,  long  as  a  woman's,  drawn  straight  back  from  his  forehead 
The  hair  and  beard  were  both  unkempt  and  matted.  But  the  man 
held  himself  erect  and  looked  straight  at  the  strangers  through  great 
d  ark  eyes.  His  hands,  though  battered  and  scarred  with  toil  were 
long  and  shapely.  His  face  had  a  look  of  dignity,  of  a  certain  calm 
and  satisfied  superiority.  Men  of  this  kind  are  to  be  met  with  here 
and  there  among  the  Connacht  peasantry.  They  are  in  reality 
children  of  a  vanishing  race,  of  a  lost  civilisation,  a  bygone  culture. 
They  watch  the  encroachments  of  another  race  and  new  ideas  with 
a  sort  of  sorrowful  contempt.  It  is  as  if  understanding  and  despising 
what  they  see  around  them,  they  do  not  consider  it  worth  while  to 
try  to  explain  themselves  ;  as  if,  possessing  a  wisdom  of  their  own, 
an  sesthetic  joy  of  which  the  modern  world  knows  nothing,  they  are 
content  to  let  both  die  with  them  rather  than  attempt  to  teach  them 
to  men  of  a  wholly  different  outlook  upon  life." 

The  element  of  extravaganza  is  more  strongly  marked 
in  the  plot  of  "  The  Search  Party,"  which  deals  with  the 
kidnapping  of  a  number  of  innocent  people  by  an  anti- 
militant  anarchist  who  has  set  up  a  factory  of  explosives 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Ballymoy.  "  J.  J."  does  not 
appear  in  proprid  persond,  but  most  of  his  traits  are  to 
be  found  in  Dr.  O'Grady,  an  intelligent  but  happy-go- 
lucky  young  doctor.  The  most  attractive  person  in 
the  story,  however,  is  Lord  Manton,  a  genially  cynical 
peer  with  highly  original  views  on  local  government  and 
the  advantages  of  unpopularity.  Thus,  when  he  did 


INTRODUCTION.  XXXl 

not  want  Patsy  Devlin,  the  drunken  smith,  to  be  elected 
inspector  of  sheep-dipping,  he  strongly  supported  his 
candidature  for  the  following  reasons  : — 

'  There's  a  lot  of  stupid  talk  nowadays  abou<  the  landlords 
having  lost  all  their  power  in  the  country.  It's  not  a  bit  true.  They 
have  plenty  of  power,  more  than  they  ever  had,  if  they  only  knew 
how  to  use  it.  All  I  have  to  do  if  I  want  a  particular  man  not  to  be 
appointed  to  anything  is  to  write  a  strong  letter  in  his  favour  to  the 
Board  of  Guardians  or  the  County  Council,  or  whatever  body  is  doing 
the  particular  job  that  happens  to  be  on  hand  at  the  time.  The 
League  comes  down  on  my  man  at  once,  and  he  hasn't  the  ghost  of 
a  chance." 

Excellent,  too,  is  the  digression  on  the  comparative 
commonness  of  earls  in  Ireland,  where  untitled  people 
tend  to  disappear  while  earls  survive,  though  they  are 
regarded  much  as  ordinary  people.  Canon  Hannay 
makes  great  play  as  usual  with  the  humours  of  Irish 
officialdom,  and  his  obiter  dicta  on  the  mental  outlook  of 
police  officers  are  shrewd  as  well  as  entertaining. 
District- Inspector  Goddard  had  undoubted  social  gifts, 
but  he  was  an  inefficient  officer,  being  handicapped  by 
indolence  and  a  great  sense  of  humour.  There  is  some- 
thing attractive,  again,  about  Miss  Blow,  the  handsome, 
resolute,  prosaic  young  Englishwoman  whose  heroic 
efforts  to  trace  her  vanished  lover  are  baffled  at  every 
turn.  Everybody  in  Ballymoy  told  her  lies,  with  the 
result  that  they  seemed  to  her  heartless  and  cruel  when 
in  reality  they  wished  to  spare  her  feelings.  Others  of 
the  dramatis  persona  verge  on  caricature,  but  the  story 
has  many  exhilarating  moments. 

Exhilarating,  too,  is  "  The  Major's  Niece,"  which  is 
founded  on  an  extremely  improbable  imbroglio.  So 
precise  and  business-like  a  man  as  Major  Kent  was  not 
likely  to  make  a  mistake  of  seven  or  eight  years  in  the 
age  of  a  visitor  especially  when  the  visitor  happened  to 


XXXli  INTRODUCTION. 

be  his  own  sister's  child.  However,  the  initial  improba- 
bility may  be  readily  condoned  in  view  of  the  enter- 
taining sequel.  "  J.  J."  reappears  in  his  best  form, 
Marjorie  is  a  most  engaging  tomboy,  and  the  fun  never 
flags  for  an  instant.  But  much  as  we  love  "  J.  J.," 
we  reluctantly  recognise  in  "  The  Simpkins  Plot " 
that  you  can  have  too  much  of  a  good  thing,  and 
that  a  man  who  would  be  a  nuisance  as  a  neighbour 
in  real  life  is  in  danger  of  becoming  a  bore  in  a  novel. 
At  the  same  time  the  digressions  and  irrelevancies  are 
as  good  as  ever.  It  is  pleasant  to  be  reminded  of  such 
facts  as  that  wedding  cake  is  invariably  eaten  by  the 
Irish  post  office  officials,  or  to  listen  to  Doctor 
O'Donoghue  on  the  nutrition  of  infants  : 

"  You  can  rear  a  child,  whether  it  has  the  whooping  cough 
or  not,  on  pretty  near  anything,  so  long  as  you  give  it  enough  of 
whatever  it  is  you  do  give  it." 

Canon  Hannay  excels  in  the  conduct  of  an  absurd 
or  paradoxical  proposition,  but  he  needs  a  word  of 
friendly  caution  against  undue  reliance  on  the  mechanism 
of  the  practical  joke.  Perhaps  his  English  cure  has 
demoralised  "  J.  J.,"  but  we  certainly  prefer  him  as  he 
was  in  Inishgowlan,  convinced  by  practical  experience 
that  he  would  rather  do  any  mortal  thing  than  try  to 
mind  a  baby  and  make  butter  at  the  same  time. 

Of  Canon  Hannay's  later  novels  two  demand  special 
attention  and  for  widely  different  reasons.  In  "  The 
Red  Hand  of  Ulster,"  reverting  to  politics — politics, 
moreover,  of  the  most  explosive  kind — he  achieved  the 
well-nigh  impossible  in  at  once  doing  full  justice  to  the 
dour  sincerity  of  the  Orange  North,  and  yet  conciliating 
Nationalist  susceptibilities.  In  "  The  Inviolable 
Sanctuary,"  he  has  shown  that  a  first-rate  public-school 


INTRODUCTION.  XXX111 

athlete,  whose  skill  in  pastime  is  confined  to  ball  games 
cuts  a  sorry  figure  alongside  of  a  chit  of  a  girl  who  can 
handle  a  boat.  This  salutary  if  humiliating  truth  is  en- 
forced not  from  any  desire  to  further  Feminist  principles 
— Canon  Hannay's  attitude  towards  women  betrays  no 
belief  in  the  equality  of  the  sexes — but  because  he  cannot 
be  bothered  with  the  sentimentality  of  conventional 
love-making.  It  may  be  on  this  account  that  he  more 
than  once  assigns  a  leading  role  to  an  ingenuous  young 
Amazon  into  whose  ken  the  planet  of  love  will  not  swim 
for  another  four  or  five  years. 

During  the  last  thirty  years  the  alleged  decadence  of 
Irish  humour  has  been  a  frequent  theme  of  pessimistic 
critics.  Various  causes  have  been  invoked  to  account 
for  the  phenomenon,  which,  when  dispassionately 
considered,  amounted  to  this,  that  the  rollicking  novel 
of  incident  and  adventure  had  died  with  Lever.  So,  for 
the  matter  of  that,  had  novels  of  the  "  Frank  Fairleigh  " 
type,  with  their  authors.  The  ascendancy  of  Parnell  and 
the  regime  of  the  Land  League  did  not  make  for  gaiety, 
yet  even  these  influences  were  powerless  to  eradicate 
the  inherent  absurdities  of  Irish  life,  and  the  authors  of 
the  "  R.M."  entered  on  a  career  which  has  been  a 
triumphal  disproval  of  this  allegation  as  far  back  as  1889. 
At  their  best  they  have  interpreted  normal  Irishmen 
and  Irishwomen,  gentle  and  simple,  with  unsurpassed 
fidelity  and  sympathy.  But  to  award  them  the  supremacy 
in  this  genre  both  as  realists  and  as  writers  does  not 
detract  from  the  success  won  in  a  different  sphere  by 
Canon  Hannay.  His  goal  is  less  ambitious  and  aim  is 
less  unfaltering,  but  as  an  improvisor  of  whimsical 
situations  and  an  ironic  commentator  on  the  actualities 
of  Irish  life  he  has  invented  a  new  form  of  literary 


XXXIV  INTRODUCTION. 

entertainment  which  has  the  double  merit  of  being  at 
once  diverting  and  instructive. 

But  as  we  believe  this  volume  will  sufficiently  show, 
though  these  three  novelists  have  so  far  transcended 
the  achievements  of  contemporary  writers  on  Irish  life, 
they  are  being  followed  at  no  long  distance  by  younger 
writers,  for  whom  they  have  helped  to  find  a  public 
and  in  whose  more  mature  achievements  they  may  have 
to  acknowledge  a  serious  literary  rivalry.  We  have 
dealt  with  the  women  writers  to  be  found  in  this  new 
group.  It  remains  for  us  to  criticise  the  work  of  the  men 
who  belong  to  it. 

Mr.  John  Stevenson,  otherwise  Pat  Carty,  whose 
Rhymes  have  been  so  charmingly  set  to  music  by  Sir 
Charles  Stanford,  and  so  delightfully  sung  by  Mr. 
Plunket- Greene,  possesses  a  whimsical  gift,  both  in  prose 
and  verse,  which  gives  fresh  evidence  of  the  awakening 
of  an  Ulster  school  of  humorists.  His  "  Boy  in  the 
Country "  is  descriptive  of  a  child's  companionship 
in  the  country  with  farmers  and  their  wives  and  servants, 
his  falling  under  the  spell  of  a  beautiful  lady  whose 
romance  he  assists  like  a  true  young  cavalier,  and  his 
association  with  that  formidable  open-air  imp,  Jim, 
a  little  dare-devil  poacher  and  hard  swearer,  who  sailed 
his  boats  with  strips  cut  from  his  shirt  tails  and  could 
give  a  canting  minister  as  good  as  he  got,  instead  of 
cowering  under  his  preachment.  The  manners  and 
customs  of  the  farming  class  in  the  <"  Nine  Glens  of 
Antrim  "  could  not  be  more  simply  and  humorously 
told,  and  when  the  author  divagates  into  such  sketches 
as  "  The  Wise  Woman  and  the  Wise  Man,"  and  breaks 
into  occasional  verse  faithfully  descriptive  of  his  natural 
surroundings,  he  is  equally  delightful. 


INTRODUCTION.  XXXV 

Of  course,  he  is  not  as  old  a  craftsman  as  Mr.  Shan 
Bullock,  whose  dry  drollery  has  given  the  readers  of 
his  novels  and  stories  so  much  pleasure,  and  whose  serious 
purpose  and  close  observation  of  Northern  Irish  character 
are  so  well  recognised  by  all  serious  students  of  Irish 
life.  He  is  represented  in  the  volume  by  "  The  Wee 
Tea-Table,"  a  life-like  sketch  taken  from  his  "  Irish 
Pastorals." 

Mr.  Frank  Mathew,  whose  first  literary  work 
was  his  biography  of  his  illustrious  grand  uncle  Father 
Mathew,  has  also  written  some  admirable  stories  of  Irish 
life,  which  appeared  in  "  The  Idler,"  and  have  been 
collected  in  a  volume  called  "  At  the  Rising  of  the  Moon." 
"  The  Last  Race,"  by  which  he  is  represented  in  this 
volume,  will  give  our  readers  a  good  taste  of  his  graphic 
quality. 

Mr.  Padric  Colum  will  speak  for  himself  on  Irish 
fiction  in  his  introduction  to  an  edition  of  Gerald  Griffin's 
"  Collegians,"  which  is  to  form  part  of  this  series  of 
Irish  volumes.  His  finely  distinctive  literary  style 
and  intimate  knowledge  of  Irish  peasant  life  so  clearly 
exhibited  in  his  poems,  plays  and  stories,  is  shown  in  these 
pages  by  that  remarkable  sketch  of  "  Maclshaughlinn 
at  the  Fair,"  written  with  the  elemental  abandon  of 
Synge  himself. 

Finally,  in  absolute  contrast  with  Mr.  Colum's  idealistic 
work,  comes  the  humorous  realism  of  Lynn  Doyle's 
pictures  of  the  Ulster  Peasantry.  But  their  efforts  to 
over-reach  one  another,  their  love  of  poaching,  and 
their  marriage  operations,  afford  the  author  of  "  Bally- 
gullion  "  a  congenial  field  for  the  display  of  his  obser- 
vation, his  high  spirits,  and  his  genuine  sense  of  the 
ridiculous.  His  comedy  of  "  The  Ballygullion  Creamery 


INTRODUCTION. 


Society  "  which  fitly  concludes  this  volume,  is  good, 
hearty,  wholesome  fun,  and  we  only  trust,  in  Ireland's 
best  interests,  that  its  official  stamp,  a  wreath  of  shamrocks 
and  orange  lilies — is  not  merely  an  unlikely  if  amiable 
suggestion,  but  is  yet  to  have  its  counterpart  in  reality. 


Preface. 


THE  fiction  of  which  this  volume  consists  is  in  part 
fabulous  in  character,  in  part  descriptive  of  actual 
Irish  life  upon  its  lighter  side 

The  Heroic  stories  and  Folk-tales  are,  on  chronological 
grounds,  printed  early  in  the  book  and  are  then  followed 
by  extracts  from  the  writings  of  the  Irish  novelists 
of  the  first  half  and  third  quarter  of  the  19th  Century — 
Maginn,  Lever,  Lover,  and  LeFanu. 

Then  come  the  writers  who  have  made  their  mark  in 
recent  times,  such  as  Miss  Jane  Barlow,  the  authors 
of  "  Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish  R.M.,"  and  Canon 
Hannay,  and  lastly  those  of  a  new  school  amongst  whom 
may  be  named  Mr.  Padraic  Colum,  "  Lynn  Doyle," 
and  Miss  K  Purdon. 

This  may  be  said  to  be  the  general  order  of  the 
contents  of  "  Humours  of  Irish  Life."  But  where 
artistic  propriety,  suggesting  contrasts  of  local  colour 
and  changes  of  subject,  has  called  for  it,  a  strict  chrono- 
logical sequence  has  been  departed  from  ;  yet  enough 
ot  it  remains  to  enable  the  critic  to  observe  what  we 
believe  to  be  a  change  for  the  better,  both  in  the  taste 
and  technique  of  these  Irish  stories  and  sketches,  as  time 
has  gone  by. 


ii  PREFACE. 

It  remains  for  us  to  express  our  cordial  obligations 
to  the  following  authors  and  publishers  for  the  use  of 
copyright  material.  To  Messrs.  Macmillan  and  Miss 
B.  Hunt  for  the  story  of  "  McCarthy  of  Connacht," 
from  "  Folk  Tales  of  Breffny  "  ;  to  Canon  Hannay 
and  Messrs.  Methuen  for  chapters  from  "  Spanish 
Gold  "  and  "  The  Adventures  of  Dr.  Whitty,"  entitled 
"  J.  J.  Meldon  and  the  Chief  Secretary,"  and  "  The 
Interpreters "  ;  to  Mr.  H.  de  Vere  Stacpoole  and 
Mr.  Fisher  Unwin  for  "  The  Meet  of  the  Beagles," 
from  the  novel  of  "  Patsy  "  ;  to  Miss  O'Conor  Eccles 
and  Messrs.  Cassell  for  "  King  William,"  a  story  in 
the  late  Miss  Charlotte  O'Conor  Eccles's  "  Aliens 
of  the  West "  ;  to  Miss  Eleanor  Alexander  and  Mr. 
Edward  Arnold  for  "  Old  Tummus  and  the  Battle 
of  Scarva,"  from  "  Lady  Anne's  Walk,"  and  to  the 
same  publisher  and  to  Mr.  John  Stevenson  for  a 
chapter  entitled  "  The  Wise  Woman  "  from  "  A  Boy  in 
the  Country "  ;  to  Messrs.  James  Duffy  and  Sons 
for  Kickham's  Story  of  "  The  Thrush  and  the 
Blackbird  "  ;  to  Mr.  William  Percy  French  for  "  The 
First  Lord  Liftenant "  ;  to  Mr.  Frank  Mathew  for 
"  Their  Last  Race,"  from  his  volume  "  At  the  rising  of 
the  Moon  "  ;  to  Miss  K.  Purdon  for  a  chapter  entitled 
"  The  Game  Leg,"  from  her  novel  "  The  Folk  of  Furry 
Farm,"  and  to  its  publishers,  Messrs.  James  Nisbet  and 
Co.  Ltd. ;  to  Dr.  Douglas  Hyde  for  his  Folk-tale  of 
"  The  Piper  and  the  Puca  "  ;  to  Martin  Ross  and  Miss 


PREFACE.  Ill 

E.  CE.  Somerville  and  Messrs.  Longmans,  Green  &  Co., 
for  the  use  of  two  chapters — "  Trinket's  Colt  "  and  "  The 
Boat's  Share  " — from  "  Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 
R.M."  and  "  Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  R.M." 
respectively  ;  to  Mr.  Shan  Bullock  for  "  The  Wee  Tea 
Table,"  from  his  "  Irish  Pastorals  "  ;  to  Miss  Jane 
Barlow  and  Messrs.  Hutchinson  for  "  Quin's  Rick," 
from  "  Doings  and  Dealings,"  and  for  "  A  Test  of 
Truth,"  from  "  Irish  Neighbours  "  ;  to  Mr.  Padraic 
Colum  for  his  sketch  "  Maelshaughlinn  at  the  Fair," 
from  his  "  A  Year  of  Irish  Life,"  and  to  the  publishers 
of  the  book,  Messrs.  Mills  and  Boon,  Ltd.  ;  to  its  author, 
"  Lynn  Doyle,"  and  its  publishers,  Maunsel  &  Co.,  for 
"  The  Ballygullion  Creamery,"  from  "  Ballygullion  "  ; 
and  to  Mr.  P.  J.  McCall  and  the  proprietors  of  "  The 
Shamrock  "  for  the  story  "  Fionn  MacCumhail  and  the 
Princess." 

Finally,  acknowledgment  is  due  to  the  courtesy  of  the 
Proprietors  and  Editor  of  "  The  Quarterly  Review  " 
for  leave  to  incorporate  in  the  Introduction  an  article 
which  appeared  in  the  issue  of  that  periodical  for  June, 


CONTENTS 


FAG! 


DAHIKL  O'RouRKE  ...  ...  ...     Dr.  Maginn      1 

ADVENTURES  OF  GILLA  NX  CHRECK  AN  GOUR 

Patrick  Kennedy      9 

TH«  LITTLE  WEAVER  OF  DULEEK  GATE    ...  Samuel  Lover    18 

FlONN   MACCUMHAIL  AND  THE   PRINCESS    Patrick  J .  McCall     30 

THE  KILDARE  POOKA           ...            ...  Patrick  Kennedy  38 

THE  PIPER  AND  THE  PUCA              ...  ...  Douglas  Hyde  42 

MCCARTHY  OF  CONNACHT  ...           ...  ...           B.  Hunt  46 

THE  MAD  PUDDING  OF  BALLYBOULTEEN    William  Carleton  58 

FRANK  WEBBER'S  WAGER  ...           ...  ...  Charles  Lever  72 

SAM  WHAM  AND  THE  SAWMONT      ...  S*>  Samuel  Ferguson  82 

DARBY  DOYLE'S  VOYAGE  TO  QUEBEC  Thomas  Ettingsall  84 

BOB  BURKE'S  DUEL                ...             ...  ...      Dr.  Maginn  92 

BILLY  MALONEY'S  TASTE  OF  IX>VE  AND  GLORY 

Joseph  Sheridan  Le  Fanu  105 

A  PLEASANT  JOURNEY          ...  ...  ...  Charles  Lever  123 

THK  BATTLE  OF  AUGHRIM  ...  ...  William  Carleton  131 

THE  QUARK  GANDER  ...  Joseph  Sheridan  Le  Fanu  139 

THE  THRUSH  AND  THE  BLACKBIRD        Charles  J.  Kickham  148 
THEIR  LAST  RACE  ...  ...  ...  Frank  Mathew  154 

THE  FIRST  LORD  LIFTINANT  ...  William  Percy  French  159 

THE  BOAT'S  SHARE  E.  CE.  Somerville  and  Martin  Ross  167 

"KING  WILLIAM"   ...  ...  Charlotte  O'Conor  Eccles  179 


vi  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

QUIN'S  RICK  ...  ...  —    Jane  Barlow  200 

MAELSHAUGHLINN  AT  THE  FAIR     ...  Padraic  Colum  213 

THE  REV.  J.  J.  MELDON  AND  THE  CHIEF  SECRETARY 

George  A .  Birmingham  220 

OLD  TUMMUS  AND  THE   BATTLE  OF  SCARVA 

Eleanor  Alexander  235 

THE  GAME  LEG     ...          ...  ...  ...  K.  F.  Purdon  244 

TRINKET'S  COLT     ...  E.  (E.  Somerville  and  Martin  Ross  258 

THE  WEE  TEA  TABLE          ...  ...  ...  Shan  Bullock  276 

THE  INTERPRETERS  ...            ...  George  A.  Birmingham  290 

A  TEST  OF  TRUTH  ...            ...  ..-.  ...    Jane  Barlow  307 

THE  WISE  WOMAN               ...  ...  John  Stevenson  314 

THE  MEET  OF  THE  BEAGLES  ...    H.  de  Vtre  Stacpoole  324 

THE  BALLYGULLION  CREAMERY  SOCIETY,  LIMITED 

Lynn  Doylt  336 


AUTHORS   REPRESENTED 


PAGE 


ALEXANDER,  ELEANOR     ...  ...  ...  235 

BARLOW,  JANE     ...            ...  ...  ...  200,  307 

BIRMINGHAM,  GEORGE  A.  ...  ...  220,  290 

BULLOCK,  SHAN  ...            ...  ...  ...  276 

CARLETON,  WILLIAM        ...  ...  ...  58,  131 

COLUM,  PADRAIC                ...  ...  ...  213 

DOYLE,  LYNN       ...             ...  ...  ...  336 

ECCLES,  CHARLOTTE  O' CONOR  ...  ...  179 

ETTINGSALL,  THOMAS       ...  ...  ...  84 

FERGUSON,  SIR  SAMUEL  ...  ...  ...  82 

FRENCH,  WILLIAM  PERCY  ...  ...  159 

HUNT,  B.            ...            ...  ...  ...  46 

HYDE,  DOUGLAS...            ...  ...  ...  42 

KENNEDY,  PATRICK          ...  ...  ...  9,  38 

KICKHAM,  CHARLES  JOSEPH  ...  ...  148 

LE  FANU,  JOSEPH  SHERIDAN  ...  ...  105,  139 

LEVER,  CHARLES              ...  ...  ...  72,  123 

LOVER,  SAMUEL...            ...  ...  18 

MAGINN,  DR.       ...            ...  ...  ...  1,  92 

MATHEW,  FRANK               ...  ...  ...  154 

McCALL,  PATRICK  J.         ...  ...  ...  30 

PURDON,  K.  F.    ...             ...  ...  ...  244 

SOMERVILLE,   E-   CE-   AND   ROSS,    MARTIN      ...  167,    258 

STACPOOLE,  H.  DE  VERB  ...  ...  324 

STEVENSON,  JOHN             ...  ...  ...  314 


HUMOURS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 


Daniel  O'Rourke. 

From  Crojton  Croker's  "  Fairy  Legends  and  Traditions  of 

the  South  oj  Ireland." 
BY  DR.  MAGiNN(i793-i842). 

PEOPLE  may  have  heard  of  the  renowned  adventures 
of  Daniel  O'Rourke,  but  how  few  are  there  who  know 
that  the  cause  of  all  his  perils,  above  and  below,  was 
neither  more  nor  less  than  his  having  slept  under  the 
walls  of  the  Phooka's  tower.  I  knew  the  man  well  : 
he  lived  at  the  bottom  of  Hungry  Hill.  He  toM  me  his 
story  thus  : — 

"  I  am  often  axed  to  tell  it,  sir,  so  that  this  is  not  the 
first  time.  The  master's  son,  you  see,  had  come  from 
beyond  foreign  parts  ;  and  sure  enough  there  was  a 
dinner  given  to  all  the  people  on  the  ground,  gentle 
and  simple,  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor.  Well,  we 
had  everything  of  the  best,  and  plenty  of  it ;  and  we 
ate,  and  we  drunk,  and  we  danced.  To  make  a  long 
story  short,  I  got,  as  a  body  may  say,  the  same  thing 
as  tipsy  almost.  And  so,  as  I  was  crossing  the  stepping- 
stones  of  the  ford  of  Ballyasheenogh,  I  missed  my  foot, 
and  souse  I  fell  into  the  water.  '  Death  alive  !  '  thought 
I,  'I'll  be  drowned  now ! '  However,  I  began 
swimming,  swimming,  swimming  away  for  dear  life, 
till  at  last  I  got  ashore,  somehow  or  other,  but  never 
the  one  of  me  can  tell  how>  upon  a  dissolute  island. 

B 


2  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  I  wandered,  and  wandered  about  there,  without 
knowing  where  I  wandered,  until  at  last  I  got  into 
a  big  bog.  The  moon  was  shining  as  bright  as  day, 
or  your  lady's  eyes,  sir  (with  your  pardon  for  men- 
tioning her),  and  I  looked  east  and  west,  and  north  and 
south,  and  every  way,  and  nothing  did  I  see  but  bog, 
bog,  bog.  I  began  to  scratch  me  head,  and  sing  the 
Ullagone — when  all  of  a  sudden  the  moon  grew  black, 
and  I  looked  up,  and  saw  something  for  all  the  world 
as  if  it  was  moving  down  between  me  and  it,  and  I  could 
not  tell  what  it  was.  Down  it  came  with  a  pounce, 
and  looked  at  me  full  in  the  face  ;  and  what  was  it  but 
an  eagle  ?  So  he  looked  at  me  in  the  face,  and  says  he 
to  me,  '  Daniel  O'Rourke,'  says  he,  '  how  do  you  do  ?  ' 
'  Very  well,  I  thank  you  sir,'  says  I  ;  '  I  hope  you're 
well '  ;  wondering  out  of  my  senses  all  the  time  how 
an  eagle  came  to  speak  like  a  Christian.  '  What  brings 
you  here,  Dan  ? '  says  he.  '  Nothing  at  all,  sir,'  says 
I  :  '  only  I  wish  I  was  safe  home  again.'  '  Is  it  out 
of  the  island  you  want  to  go,  Dan  ? '  says  he.  '  'Tis, 
sir,'  says  I.  '  Dan,'  says  he,  '  though  it  is  very  improper 
for  you  to  get  drunk  on  Lady-day,  yet,  as  you  are  a 
decent,  sober  man,  who  'tends  Mass  well,  and  never 
flings  stones  at  me  or  mine,  nor  cries  out  after  us  in  the 
fields — my  life  for  yours,'  says  he,  'so  get  on  my  back 
and  grip  me  well  for  fear  you'd  fall  off,  and  I'll  fly  you 
out  of  the  bog.'  '  I  am  afraid,'  says  I,  '  your  honour's 
making  game  of  me  ;  for  who  ever  heard  of  riding 
horseback  on  an  eagle  before  ? '  '  Ton  the  honour  of 
a  gentleman,'  says  he,  putting  his  right  foot  on  his 
breast,  '  I  am  quite  in  earnest :  and  so  now  either  take 
my  offer  or  starve  in  the  bog — besides,  I  see  that  your 
weight  is  sinking  the  stone.' 


DANIEL  O'ROURKE.  3 

"  It  was  true  enough,  as  he  said,  for  I  found  the  stone 
every  minute  going  from  under  me.  '  I  thank  your 
honour,'  says  I,  'for  the  loan  of  your  civility  ;  and  I'll 
take  your  kind  offer.'  I  therefore  mounted  upon  the 
back  of  the  eagle,  and  he'd  him  tight  enough  by  the 
throat,  and  up  he  flew  in  the  air  like  a  lark.  Little  I 
knew  the  trick  he  was  going  to  serve  me.  Up — up — up, 
dear  knows  how  far  he  flew.  '  Why,  then,'  said  I 
to  him — thinking  he  did  not  know  the  right  road  home — 
very  civilly,  because  why  ?  I  was  in  his  power  entirely  : 
'  sir,'  says  I,  '  please  your  honour's  glory,  and  with 
humble  submission  to  your  better  judgment,  if  you'd 
fly  down  a  bit,  you're  now  just  over  my  cabin,  and  I 
could  be  put  down  there,  and  many  thanks  to  your 
worship.' 

"  '  Arrah,  Dan,'  said  he,  '  do  you  think  me  a  fool  ? 
Look  down  in  the  next  field,  and  don't  you  see  two  men 
and  a  gun  ?  By  my  word  it  would  be  no  joke  to  be 
shot  this  way,  to  oblige  a  drunken  blackguard  that  I 
picked  off  a  cowld  stone  in  a  bog.'  Well,  sir,  up  he 
kept,  flying,  flying,  and  I  asking  him  every  minute  to 
fly  down,  and  all  to  no  use.  '  Where  in  the  world  are 
you  going,  sir  ?  '  says  I  to  him.  '  Hold  your  tongue, 
Dan,'  says  he  :  '  mind  your  own  business,  and  don't 
be  interfering  with  the  business  of  other  people.' 

"  At  last  where  should  we  come  to,  but  to  the  moon 
itself.  Now,  you  can't  see  it  from  this,  but  there  is, 
or  there  was  in  my  time,  a  reaping-hook  sticking  out 
of  the  side  of  the  moon,  this  way  '  (drawing  the  figure 
thus  on  the  ground  with  the  end  of  his  stick). 

"  '  Dan,'  said  the  eagle,  '  I'm  tired  with  this  long 
fly  ;  I  had  no  notion  'twas  so  far.'  '  And,  my  lord,  sir,' 
said  I,  '  who  in  the  world  axed  you  to  fly  so  far — was  it 


4  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH  LIFE. 

I  ?  did  not  I  beg,  and  pray,  and  beseech  you  to  stop 
half-an-hour  ago  ? '  '  There's  no  use  talking,  Dan/ 
says  he  ;  '  I'm  tired  bad  enough,  so  you  must  get  off, 
and  sit  down  on  the  moon  until  I  rest  myself.'  '  Is 
it  sit  down  on  the  moon  ?  '  said  I  ;  'is  it  upon  that 
little  round  thing,  then  ?  why,  sure,  I'd  fall  off  in  a 
minute,  and  be  kilt  and  split,  and  smashed  all  to  bits  ; 
you  are  a  vile  deceiver,  so  you  are.'  '  Not  at  all,  Dan,' 
said  he  ;  '  you  can  catch  fast  hold  of  the  reaping  hook 
that's  sticking  out  of  the  side  of  the  moon,  and  'twill 
keep  you  up.'  '  I  won't,  then,'  said  I.  '  May  be  not,' 
said  he,  quite  quiet.  '  But  if  you  don't,  my  man,  I  shall 
just  give  you  a  shake,  and  one  slap  of  my  wing,  and  send 
you  down  to  the  ground,  where  every  bone  in  your 
body  will  be  smashed  as  small  as  a  drop  of  dew  on  a 
cabbage-leaf  in  the  morning.'  '  Why,  then,  I'm  in  a 
fine  way,'  said  I  to  myself,  '  ever  to  have  come  along 
with  the  likes  of  you  '  ;  and  so,  giving  him  a  hearty 
curse  in  Irish,  for  fear  he'd  know  what  I  said,  I  got  off 
his  back,  with  a  heavy  heart,  took  hold  of  the  reaping- 
hook,  and  sat  down  upon  the  moon,  and  a  mighty  cold 
seat  it  was,  I  can  tell  you  that. 

"  When  he  had  me  fairly  landed,  he  turned  about  on 
me,  and  said,  '  Good  morning  to  you,  Daniel  O'Rourke,' 
said  he  ;  'I  think  I've  nicked  you  fairly  now.  You 
robbed  me  nest  last  year  '  ('twas  true  enough  for  him, 
but  how  he  found  it  out  is  hard  to  say),  '  and  in  return 
you  are  freely  welcome  to  cool  your  heels  dangling  upon 
the  moon  like  a  cockthrow.' 

'  '  Is  that  all,  and  is  this  the  way  you  leave  me,  you 
brute,  you  ?  '  says  I.  '  You  ugly,  unnatural  baste,  and 
is  this  the  way  you  serve  me  at  last  ?  '  'Twas  all  to  no 
manner  of  use  ;  he  spread  out  his  great,  big  wings, 


DANIEL  O'ROURKE.  5 

burst  out  laughing,  and  flew  away  like  lightning.  I 
bawled  after  him  to  stop  ;  but  I  might  have  called  and 
bawled  for  ever,  without  his  minding  me.  Away  he 
went,  and  I  never  saw  him  from  that  day  to  this — 
sorrow  fly  away  with  him  !  You  may  be  sure  I  was  in 
a  disconsolate  condition,  and  kept  roaring  out  for  the 
bare  grief,  when  all  at  once  a  door  opened  right  in  the 
middle  of  the  moon,  creaking  on  its  hinges  as  if  it  had 
not  been  opened  for  a  month  before — I  suppose  they 
never  thought  of  greasing  'em,  and  out  there  walks — 
who  do  you  think,  but  the  man  in  the  moon  hrnself  ? 
I  knew  him  by  his  bush. 

' '  Good  morrow  to  you,  Daniel  O'Rourke,'  says  he  ; 
'  how  do  you  do  ? '  '  Very  well,  thank  your  honour,' 
said  I.  '  I  hope  your  honour's  well.'  '  What  brought 
you  here,  Dan  ?  '  said  he.  So  I  told  him  how  it  was. 

Dan,'  said  the  man  in  the  moon,  taking  a  pinch 
of  snuff,  when  I  was  done,  '  you  must  not  stay  here.' 
'  Indeed,  sir,'  says  I,  '  'tis  much  against  my  will  I'm 
here  at  all  ;  but  how  am  I  to  go  back  ?  '  '  That's  your 
business,'  said  he  ;  '  Dan,  mine  is  to  tell  you  that  you 
must  not  stay,  so  be  off  in  less  than  no  time.'  '  I'm 
doing  no  harm,'  says  I,  '  only  holding  on  hard  by  the 
reaping-hook,  lest  I  fall  off.'  '  That's  what  you  must 
not  do,  Dan,'  says  he.  '  Pray,  sir,'  says  I,  '  may  I  ask 
how  many  you  are  in  family,  that  you  would  not  give 
a  poor  traveller  lodging  ;  I'm  sure  'tis  not  so  often  you're 
troubled  with  strangers  coming  to  see  you.  for  'tis  a 
long  way.'  '  I'm  by  myself,  Dan,'  says  he ;  '  but 
you'd  better  let  go  the  reaping  hook.'  '  And  with  your 
leave,'  says  I,  '  I'll  not  let  go  the  grip,  and  the  more 
you  bids  me,  the  more  I  won't  let  go  ; — so  I  will.' 
'  You  had  better,  Dan,'  says  he  again.  '  Why,  then,  my 


6  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH  LIFE. 

little  fellow,'  says  I,  taking  the  whoh  weight  of  him 
with  my  eye  from  head  to  foot,  '  there  are  two  words 
to  that  bargain  ;  and  I'll  not  budge,  but  you  may  if 
you  like.'  '  We'll  see  how  that  is  to  be,'  says  he  ; 
and  back  he  went,  giving  the  door  such  a  great  bang 
after  him  (for  it  was  plain  he  was  huffed)  that  I  thought 
the  moon  and  all  would  fall  down  with  it. 

"  Well,  I  was  preparing  myself  to  try  strength  with 
him,  when  back  again  he  comes,  with  the  kitchen  cleaver 
in  his  hand,  and  without  saying  a  word  he  gives  two  bangs 
to  the  handle  of  the  reaping  hook  that  was  keeping  me 
up,  and  whap  !  it  came  in  two.  '  Good  morning  to 
you,  Dan:'  says  the  spiteful  little  old  blackguard,  when 
he  saw  me  cleanly  falling  down  with  a  bit  of  the  handle 
in  my  hand  ;  '  I  thank  you  for  your  visit,  and  fair 
weather  after  you,  Daniel.'  I  had  not  time  to  make 
any  answer  to  him,  for  I  was  tumbling  over  and  over, 
and  rolling,  and  rolling,  at  the  rate  of  a  fox-hunt.  '  This 
is  a  pretty  pickle,'  says  I,  '  for  a  decent  man  to  be  seen 
at  this  time  of  night :  I  am  now  sold  fairly.'  The  word 
was  not  out  of  my  mouth  when,  whizz  !  what  should 
fly  by  close  to  my  ear  but  a  flock  of  wild  geese  ;  all  the 
way  from  my  own  bog  of  Ballyasheenogh,  or  else,  how 
should  they  know  me  ?  The  ould  gander,  who  was 
their  general,  turning  about  his  head,  cried  out  to  me, 
'  Is  that  you,  Dan  ? '  '  The  same,'  said  I,  not  a  bit 
daunted  now  at  what  he  said,  for  I  was  by  this  time 
used  to  all  kinds  of  bedevilment,  and,  besides,  I  knew  him 
of  ould.  '  Good  morrow  to  you,'  says  he,  '  Daniel 
O'Rourke  ;  how  are  you  in  health  this  morning  ?  ' 
'  Very  well,  sir,'  says  I, '  I  thank  you  kindly,'  drawing  my 
breath,  for  I  was  mighty  in  want  of  some  '  I  hope 
your  honour's  the  same.'  '  I  think  'tis  falling  you  are, 


DANIEL  O'ROURKE.  7 

Daniel,'  says  he.  *  You  may  say  that,  sir,'  says  I. 
'  And  where  are  you  going  all  the  way  so  fast  ?  '  said 
the  gander.  So  I  told  him  how  I  had  taken  the  drop, 
and  how  I  came  on  the  island,  and  how  I  lost  my  way 
in  the  bog,  and  how  the  thief  of  an  eagle  flew  me  up 
to  the  moon,  and  how  the  man  in  the  moon  turned  me 
out.  '  Dan,'  said  he,  '  I'll  save  you  :  put  out  your 
hand  and  catch  me  by  the  leg,  and  I'll  fly  you  home.' 

'  Sweet  is  your  hand  in  a  pitcher  of  honey,  my  jewel,' 
says  I,  though  all  the  time  I  thought  within  myself  that 
I  don't  much  trust  you  ;  but  there  was  no  help,  so  I 
caught  the  gander  by  the  leg,  and  away  I  and  the  other 
geese  flew  after  him  as  fast  as  hops. 

"  We  flew,  and  we  flew,  and  we  flew,  until  we  came 
right  over  the  wide  ocean.  I  knew  it  well,  for  I  saw  Cape 
Clear  to  my  right  hand,  sticking  up  out  of  the  water. 
'  Ah  !  my  lord,'  said  I  to  the  goose,  for  I  thought  it  best 
to  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  my  head,  any  way,  '  fly  to  land 
if  you  please.'  '  It  is  impossible,  you  see,  Dan,'  said 
he,  'for  a  while,  because,  you  see,  we  are  going  to  Arabia.' 
'  To  Arabia  !  '  said  I  ;  '  that's  surely  some  place  in 
foreign  parts,  far  away.  Oh  !  Mr.  Goose  :  why,  then, 
to  be  sure,  I'm  a  man  to  be  pitied  among  you.'  '  Whist, 
whist,  you  fool,'  said  he,  '  hold  your  tongue  ;  I  tell  you 
Arabia  is  a  very  decent  sort  of  place,  as  like  West  Carbery 
as  one  egg  is  like  another,  only  there  is  a  little  more  sand 
there.' 

"  Just  as  we  were  talking,  a  ship  hove  in  sight,  scud- 
ding so  beautiful  before  the  wind  ;  '  Ah  !  then,  sir,' 
said  I,  "  will  you  drop  me  on  the  ship  if  you  please  ? ' 
'  We  are  not  fair  over  her,'  said  he.  '  We  are,'  said  I. 
'  We  are  not,'  said  he  ;  '  If  I  dropped  you  now  you 
would  go  splash  into  the  sea.'  '  I  would  not,'  says  I ; 


8  HUMOURS  OF  IRISH   LIFE. 

'  I  know  better  than  that,  for  it  is  just  clean  under  us,  so 
let  me  drop  now,  at  once.'  '  If  you  must,  you  must,' 
said  he  ;  '  there,  take  your  own  way/  and  he  opened 
his  claw,  and,  'deed,  he  was  right — sure  enough,  I  came 
down  plump  into  the  very  bottom  of  the  salt  sea  !  Down 
to  the  very  bottom  I  went,  and  I  gave  myself  up  then  for 
ever,  when  a  whale  walked  up  to  me,  scratching  himself 
after  his  night's  sleep,  and  looked  me  full  in  the  face, 
and  never  the  word  did  he  say,  but,  lifting  up  his  tail, 
he  splashed  me  all  over  again  with  the  cold,  salt  water 
till  there  wasn't  a  dry  stitch  on  my  whole  carcase  ;  and 
I  heard  somebody  saying — 'twas  a  voice  I  knew,  too — 
'  Get  up,  you  drunken  brute,  off  o'  that '  ;  and  with  that 
I  woke  up,  and  there  was  Judy  with  a  tub  full  of  water 
which  she  was  splashing  all  over  me — for,  rest  her 
soul  !  though  she  was  a  good  wife,  she  never  could  bear 
to  see  me  in  drink,  and  had  a  bitter  hand  of  her  own. 
'  Get  up,'  said  she  again  :  '  and  of  all  places  in  the  parish 
would  no  place  sarve  your  turn  to  lie  down  upon  but 
under  the  ould  walls  of  Carrigaphooka  ?  an  uneasy 
resting  I  am  sure  you  had  of  it.'  And  sure  enough  I 
had  :  for  I  was  fairly  bothered  out  of  my  senses  with 
eagles,  and  men  of  the  moons,  and  flying  ganders, 
and  whales  driving  me  through  bogs,  and  up  to  the 
moon,  and  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  green  ocean. 
If  I  was  in  drink  ten  times  over,  long  would  it  be  before 
I'd  lie  down  in  the  same  spot  again,  I  know  that." 


ADVENTURES   OF  GILLA  NA  CHRECK   AN   GOUR.  Q 

Adventures  of  Gilla  na  Chreck 
an  Gour. 

(THE  FELLOW  IN  THE    GOAT  SKIN). 
From  "  Legendary  Fictions  of  the  Irish  Celts" 

BY  PATRICK  KENNEDY  (1801-1873). 
(Told  in  the  Wexford  Peasant  Dialect.) 

LONG  ago  a  poor  widow  woman  lived  down  by  the 
iron  forge  near  Enniscorthy,  and  she  was  so  poor,  she 
had  no  clothes  to  put  on  her  son  ;  so  she  used  to  fix 
him  in  the  ash-hole,  near  the  fire,  and  pile  the  warm 
ashes  about  him  ;  and,  accordingly,  as  he  grew  up, 
she  sunk  the  pit  deeper.  At  last,  by  hook  or  by  crook, 
she  got  a  goat-skin  and  fastened  it  round  his  waist, 
and  he  felt  quite  grand,  and  took  a  walk  down  the 
street.  So,  says  she  to  him  next  morning,  "  Tom,  you 
thief,  you  never  done  any  good  yet,  and  you  six-foot 
high,  and  past  nineteen  ;  take  that  rope  and  bring  me  a 
bresna  from  the  wood."  "  Never  say't  twice,  mother," 
says  Tom  ;  "  here  goes." 

When  he  had  it  gathered  and  tied,  what  should  come 
up  but  a  big  joiant,  nine-foot  high,  and  made  a  lick  of 
a  club  at  him.  Well  become  Tom,  he  jumped  a-one 
side  and  picked  up  a  ram-pike  ;  and  the  first  crack  he 
gave  the  big  fellow  he  made  him  kiss  the  clod.  "  If 
you  have  e'er  a  prayer,"  says  Tom,  "  now's  the  time  to 
say  it,  before  I  make  brishe  of  you."  "  I  have  no 
prayers,"  says  the  giant,  "  but  if  you  spare  my  life  I'll 
give  you  that  club  ;  and  as  long  as  you  keep  from  sin 
you'll  win  every  battle  you  ever  fight  with  it." 


I0  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH  LIFE. 

Tom  made  no  bones  about  letting  him  off ;  and  as 
soon  as  he  got  the  club  in  his  hands  he  sat  down  on  the 
bresna  and  gave  it  a  tap  with  the  kippeen,  and  says, 
"  Bresna,  I  had  a  great  trouble  gathering  you,  and  run 
the  risk  of  my  life  for  you  ;  the  least  you  can  do  is  to 
carry  me  home."  And,  sure  enough,  the  wind  of  the 
word  was  all  it  wanted.  It  went  off  through  the  wood, 
groaning  and  cracking  till  it  came  to  the  widow's  door. 

Well,  when  the  sticks  were  all  burned  Tom  was  sent 
off  again  to  pick  more  ;  and  this  time  he  had  to  fight 
with  a  giant  with  two  heads  on  him.  Tom  had  a  little 
more  trouble  with  him — that's  all  ;  and  the  prayers  he 
said  was  to  give  Tom  a  fife  that  nobody  could  help 
dancing  to  when  he  was  playing  it.  Begonies,  he  made 
the  big  faggot  dance  home,  with  himself  sitting  on  it. 
Well,  if  you  were  to  count  all  the  steps  from  this  to 
Dublin,  dickens  a  bit  you'd  ever  arrive  there.  The  next 
giant  was  a  beautiful  boy  with  three  heads  on  him. 
He  had  neither  prayers  nor  catechism  no  more  nor 
the  others  ;  and  so  he  gave  Tom  a  bottle  of  green  oint- 
ment that  wouldn't  let  you  be  burned,  nor  scalded, 
nor  wounded.  "  And  now,"  says  he,  "  there's  no  more 
of  us.  You  may  come  and  gather  sticks  here  till  little 
Lunacy  Day  in  harvest  without  giant  or  fairy  man  to 
disturb  you." 

Well,  now,  Tom  was  prouder  nor  ten  paycocks,  and 
used  to  take  a  walk  down  the  street  in  the  heel  of  the 
evening  ;  but  some  of  the  little  boys  had  no  more  manners 
nor  if  they  were  Dublin  jackeens,  and  put  out  their 
tongues  at  Tom's  club  and  Tom's  goat-skin.  He 
didn't  like  that  at  all,  and  it  would  be  mean  to  give  one 
of  them  a  clout.  At  last,  what  should  come  through 
the  town  but  a  kind  of  bellman,  only  it's  a  big  bugle 


ADVENTURES   OF   GILLA   NA  CHRECK   AN   GOUR.          II 

he  had,  and  a  huntsman's  cap  on  his  head,  and  a  kind 
of  painted  shirt.  So  this — he  wasn't  a  bellman,  and  I 
don't  know  what  to  call  him — bugleman,  maybe — 
proclaimed  that  the  King  of  Dublin's  daughter  was  so 
melancholy  that  she  didn't  give  a  laugh  for  seven  years, 
and  that  her  father  would  grant  her  in  marriage  to 
whoever  would  make  her  laugh  three  times.  "  That's 
the  very  thing  for  me  to  try,"  says  Tom  ;  and  so, 
without  burning  any  more  daylight,  he  kissed  his 
mother,  curled  his  club  at  the  little  boys,  and  set  off 
along  the  yalla  highroad  to  the  town  of  Dublin. 

At  last  Tom  came  to  one  of  the  City  gates  and  the 
guards  laughed  and  cursed  at  him  instead  of  letting  him 
through.  Tom  stood  it  all  for  a  little  time,  but  at  last 
one  of  them — out  of  fun,  as  he  said — drove  his  bag  net 
half  an  inch  or  so  into  his  side.  Tom  did  nothing 
but  take  the  fellow  by  the  scruff  of  his  neck  and  the 
waistband  of  his  corduroys  and  fling  him  into  the  canal. 
Some  ran  to  pull  the  fellow  out,  and  others  to  let  manners 
into  the  vulgarian  with  their  swords  and  daggers  ; 
but  a  tap  from  his  club  sent  them  headlong  into  the 
moat  or  down  on  the  stones,  and  they  were  soon  begging 
him  to  stay  his  hands. 

So  at  last  one  of  them  was  glad  enough  to  show 
Tom  the  way  to  the  Palace  yard  ;  and  there  was  the 
King  and  the  Queen,  and  the  princess  in  a  gallery, 
looking  at  all  sorts  of  wrestling  and  sword-playing, 
and  rmka-fadhas  (long  dances)  and  mumming,  all 
to  please  the  princess  ;  but  not  a  smile  came  over  her 
handsome  face. 

Well,  they  all  stopped  when  they  seen  the  young 
giant,  with  his  boy's  face  and  long,  black  hair,  and  his 
short,  curly  beard — for  his  poor  mother  couldn't  afford 


12  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

to  buy  razhurs — and  his  great,  strong  arms  and  bare 
legs,  and  no  covering  but  the  goat-skin  that  reached  from 
his  waist  to  his  knees.  But  an  envious,  wizened  basthatd 
of  a  fellow,  with  a  red  head,  that  wished  to  be  married 
to  the  princess,  and  didn't  like  how  she  opened  her  eyes 
at  Tom,  came  forward,  and  asked  his  business  very 
snappishly.  "  My  business,"  says  Tom,  says  he, 
"  is  to  make  the  beautiful  princess,  God  bless  her, 
laugh  three  times."  "  Do  you  see  all  them  merry 
fellows  and  skilful  swordsmen,"  says  the  other,  "  that 
could  eat  you  up  without  a  grain  of  salt,  and  not  a  mother's 
soul  of  'em  ever  got  a  laugh  from  her  these  seven  years  ?  " 
So  the  fellows  gathered  round  Tom,  and  the  bad  man 
aggravated  him  till  he  told  them  he  didn't  care  a  pinch 
of  snuff  for  the  whole  bilin'  of  'em  ;  let  'em  come  on, 
six  at  a  time,  and  try  what  they  could  do.  The  King, 
that  was  too  far  off  to  hear  what  they  were  saying,  asked 
what  did  the  stranger  want.  "  He  wants,"  says  the 
red-headed  fellow,  "  to  make  hares  of  your  best  men." 
"  Oh  !  "  says  the  King,  "  if  that's  the  way,  let  one  of 
'em  turn  out  and  try  his  mettle."  So  one  stood  forward, 
with  soord  and  pot-lid,  and  made  a  cut  at  Tom.  He 
struck  the  fellow's  elbow  with  the  club,  and  up  over  their 
heads  flew  the  sword,  and  down  went  the  owner  of  it  on 
the  gravel  from  a  thump  he  got  on  the  helmet.  Another 
took  his  place,  and  another  and  another,  and  then  half-a- 
dozen  at  once,  and  Tom  sent  swords,  helmets,  shields,  and 
bodies  rolling  over  and  over,  and  themselves  bawling 
out  that  they  were  kilt,  and  disabled,  and  damaged, 
and  rubbing  their  poor  elbows  and  hips,  and  limping 
away.  Tom  contrived  not  to  kill  anyone  ;  and  the 
princess  was  so  amused  that  she  let  a  great,  sweet  laugh 
out  of  her  that  was  heard  all  over  the  yard.  "  King  of 


ADVENTURES   OF   GILL  A  NA   CHRECK    AN   GOUR.  13 

Dublin,"  says  Tom,  "  I've  the  quarter  of  your 
daughter."  And  the  King  didn't  know  whether  he  was 
glad  or  sorry,  and  all  the  blood  in  the  princess's  heart 
run  into  her  cheeks. 

So  there  was  no  more  fighting  that  day,  and  Tom  was 
invited  to  dine  with  the  royal  family.  Next  day  Redhead 
told  Tom  of  a  wolf,  the  size  of  a  yearling  heifer,  that  used 
to  be  serenading  (sauntering)  about  the  walls,  and  eating 
people  and  cattle  ;  and  said  what  a  pleasure  it  would 
give  the  King  to  have  it  killed.  "  With  all  my 
heart,"  says  Tom.  "  Send  a  jackeen  to  show  me 
where  he  lives,  and  we'll  see  how  he  behaves  to  a 
stranger." 

The  princess  was  not  well  pleased,  for  Tom  looked 
a  different  person  with  fine  clothes  and  a  nice 
green  birredh  over  his  long,  curly  hair  ;  and  besides, 
he'd  got  one  laugh  out  of  her.  However,  the  King  gave 
his  consent,  and  in  an  hour  and  a  half  the  horrible  wolf 
was  walking  in  the  palace  yard,  and  Tom  a  step  or  two 
behind,  with  his  club  on  his  shoulder,  just  as  a  shepherd 
would  be  walking  after  a  pet  lamb.  The  King  and 
Queen  and  princess  were  safe  up  in  their  gallery,  but  the 
officers  and  people  of  the  court  that  were  padrowling 
about  the  great  bawn,  when  they  saw  the  big  baste 
coming  in  gave  themselves  up,  and  began  to  make 
for  doors  and  gates  ;  and  the  wolf  licked  his  chops, 
as  if  he  was  saying,  "  Wouldn't  I  enjoy  a  breakfast 
off  a  couple  of  yez  !  "  The  King  shouted  01 1,  "  O 
Gilla  na  Chreck  an  Gour,  take  away  that  terril  e  wolf 
and  you  must  have  all  my  daughter."  But  Tom  didn't 
mind  him  a  bit.  He  pulled  out  his  flute  and  began 
to  play  like  vengeance  ;  and  dickens  a  man  or  boy  in 
the  yard  but  began  shovelling  away  heel  and  toe,  and  the 


j^  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH  LIFE. 

wolf  himself  was  obliged  to  get  on  his  hind  legs  and 
dance  Tatther  Jack  Walsh  along  with  the  rest.  A  good 
deal  of  the  people  got  inside  and  shut  the  doors,  the  way 
the  hairy  fellow  wouldn't  pin  them  ;  but  Tom  kept 
playing,  and  the  outsiders  kept  shouting  and  dancing, 
and  the  wolf  kept  dancing  and  roaring  with  the  pain 
his  legs  were  giving  him  ;  and  all  the  time  he  had  his 
eyes  on  Redhead,  who  was  shut  out  along  with  the  rest. 
Wherever  Redhead  went  the  wolf  followed,  and  kept 
one  eye  on  him  and  the  other  on  Tom,  to  see  if  he  would 
give  him  leave  to  eat  him.  But  Tom  shook  his  head, 
and  never  stopped  the  tune,  and  Redhead  never  stopped 
dancing  and  bawling  and  the  wolf  dancing  and  roaring, 
one  leg  up  and  the  other  down,  and  he  ready  to  drop 
out  of  his  standing  from  fair  tiresomeness. 

When  the  princess  seen  that  there  was  no  fear  of  any- 
one being  kilt,  she  was  so  divarted  by  the  stew  that 
Redhead  was  in  that  she  gave  another  great  laugh  ; 
and  well  become  Tom,  out  he  cried,  "  King  of  Dublin, 
I  have  two  quarters  of  your  daughter."  "  Oh,  quarters 
or  alls,"  says  the  King,  "  put  away  that  divel  of  a  wolf 
and  we'll  see  about  it."  So  Gilla  put  his  flute  in  his 
pocket,  and,  says  he,  to  the  baste  that  was  sittin'  on  his 
currabingo  ready  to  faint,  "  Walk  off  to  your  mountains, 
my  fine  fellow,  and  live  like  a  respectable  baste  ;  and  if 
ever  I  find  you  come  within  seven  miles  of  any  town — ." 
He  said  no  more,  but  spit  in  his  fist,  and  gave  a  flourish 
of  his  club.  It  was  all  the  poor  divel  wanted  :  he  put 
his  tail  between  his  legs  and  took  to  his  pumps  without 
looking  at  man  or  mortial,  and  neither  sun,  moon,  nor 
stars  ever  saw  him  in  sight  of  Dublin  again. 

At  dinner  everyone  laughed  except  the  foxy  fellow  ; 
and,  sure  enough,  he  was  laying  out  how  he'd  settle 


ADVENTURES   OF   GILL  A   NA   CHRECK    AN   GOUR.  15 

poor  Tom  next  day.  "  Well,  to  be  sure  !  "  says  he, 
"  King  of  Dublin,  you  are  in  luck.  There's  the  Danes 

moidhering  us  to  no  end.  D run  to  Lusk  wid  'em 

and  if  anyone  can  save  us  from  'em  it  is  this  gentleman 
with  the  goat-skin.  There  is  a  flail  hangin'  on  the 
collar-beam  in  Hell,  and  neither  Dane  nor  Devil  can  stand 
before  it."  "  So,"  says  Tom  to  the  King,  "  will  you 
let  me  have  the  other  half  of  the  princess  if  I  bring  you 
the  flail  ?  "  "  No,  no,"  says  the  princess,  "  I'd  rather 
never  be  your  wife  than  see  you  in  that  danger." 

But  Redhead  whispered  and  nudged  Tom  about 
how  shabby  it  would  look  to  reneague  the  adventure. 
So  he  asked  him  which  way  he  was  to  go,  and  Redhead 
directed  him  through  a  street  where  a  great  many  bad 
women  lived,  and  a  great  many  shibbeen  houses  were 
open,  and  away  he  set. 

Well,  he  travelled  and  travelled  till  he  came  in  sight 
of  the  walls  of  Hell  ;  and,  bedad,  before  he  knocked 
at  the  gates,  he  rubbed  himself  over  with  the  greenish 
ointment.  When  he  knocked,  a  hundred  little  imps 
popped  their  heads  out  through  the  bars,  and  axed  him 
what  he  wanted.  "  I  want  to  speak  to  the  big  divel 
of  all,"  says  Tom  ;  "  open  the  gate." 

It  wasn't  long  till  the  gate  was  thrune  open,  and  the 
Ould  Boy  received  Tom  with  bows  and  scrapes,  and 
axed  his  business.  "  My  business  isn't  much,"  says 
Tom.  "  I  only  came  for  the  loan  of  that  flail  that  I 
see  hanging  on  the  collar-beam  for  the  King  of  Dublin 
to  give  a  thrashing  to  the  Danes."  "  Well,"  says  the 
other,  "  the  Danes  is  much  better  customers  to  me  ; 
but,  since  you  walked  so  far,  I  won't  refuse.  Hand 
that  flail,"  says  he  to  a  young  imp  ;  and  he  winked  the 
far-off  eye  at  the  same  time.  So,  while  some  were 


Z6  HUMOURS   OF    IRISH    LIFE. 

barring  the  gates,  the  young  devil  climbed  up  and  took 
down  the  iron  flail  that  had  the  handstaff  and  booltheen 
both  made  out  of  red-hot  iron.  The  little  vagabond 
was  grinning  to  think  how  it  would  burn  the  hands  off 
of  Tom,  but  the  dickens  a  burn  it  made  on  him,  no  more 
nor  if  it  was  a  good  oak  sapling.  "  Thankee,"  says 
Tom  ;  "  now,  would  you  open  the  gate  for  a  body  and 
I'll  give  you  no  more  trouble."  "Oh,  tramp  !  "  says 
Ould  Nick, "  is  that  the  way  ?  It  is  easier  getting  inside 
them  gates  than  getting  out  again.  Take  that  tool  from 
him,  and  give  him  a  dose  of  the  oil  of  stirrup."  So 
one  fellow  put  out  his  claws  to  seize  on  the  flail,  but 
Tom  gave  him  such  a  welt  of  it  on  the  side  of  his  head 
that  he  broke  off  one  of  his  horns,  and  made  him  roar 
like  a  divil  as  he  was.  Well,  they  rushed  at  Tom,  but 
he  gave  them,  little  and  big,  such  a  thrashing  as  they 
didn't  forget  for  a  while.  At  last  says  the  ould  thief  of 
all,  rubbing  his  elbows,  "  Let  the  fool  out  ;  and  woe 
to  whoever  lets  him  in  again,  great  or  small." 

So  out  marched  Tom  and  away  with  him  without 
minding  the  shouting  and  cursing  they  kept  up  at  him 
from  the  tops  of  the  walls.  And  when  he  got  home  to  the 
big  bawn  of  the  palace,  there  never  was  such  running  and 
racing  as  to  see  himself  and  the  flail.  When  he  had  his 
story  told,  he  laid  down  the  flail  on  the  stone  steps,  and 
bid  no  one  for  their  lives  to  touch  it.  If  the  King 
and  Queen  and  princess  made  much  of  him  before  they 
made  ten  times  as  much  of  him  now;  'but  Redhead, 
the  mean  scruff-hound,  stole  over,  and  thought  to 
catch  hold  of  the  flail  to  make  an  end  of  him.  His 
ringers  hardly  touched  it,  when  he  let  a  roar  out  of  him 
as  if  heaven  and  earth  were  coming  together,  and  kept 
flinging  his  arms  about  and  dancing  that  it  was  pitiful 


ADVENTURES  OF  GILL  A  NA  CHRECK   AN   GOUR.  17 

to  look  at  him.  Tom  run  at  him  as  soon  as  he  could 
rise,  caught  his  hands  in  his  own  two,  and  rubbed  them 
this  way  and  that,  and  the  burning  pain  left  them  before 
you  could  reckon  one.  Well,  the  poor  fellow,  between 
the  pain  that  was  only  just  gone,  nd  the  comfort  he  was 
in.  had  the  comicalest  face  that  ever  you  see  ;  it  was 
such  a  mixerumgatherum  of  laughing  and  crying. 
Everyone  burst  out  a-laughing — the  princess  could  not 
stop  no  more  than  the  rest — and  then  says  Gilla,  or 
Tom,  "  Now,  ma'am,  if  there  were  fifty  halves  of  you 
I  hope  you  will  give  me  them  all."  Well,  the  princess 
had  no  mock  modes  y  about  her.  She  looked  at  her 
father,  and,  by  my  word,  she  came  over  to  Gilla,  and  put 
her  two  delicate  hands  into  his  two  rough  ones,  and  I 
wish  it  was  myself  was  in  his  shoes  that  day  ! 

Tom  would  not  bring  the  flail  into  the  palace.  You 
may  be  sure  no  other  body  went  near  it  ;  and  when  the 
early  risers  were  passing  next  morning  they  found  two 
long  clefts  in  the  stone  where  it  was,  after  burning  itself 
an  opening  downwards,  nobody  could  tell  how  far. 

But  a  messenger  came  in  at  noon  and  said  that  the 
Danes  were  so  frightened  when  they  heard  of  the  flail 
coming  into  Dublin  that  they  got  into  their  ships  and 
sailed  away. 

Well,  I  suppose  before  they  were  married  Gilla  got 
some  man  like  Pat  Mara  of  Tomenine  to  larn  him  the 
"  principles  of  politeness,"  fluxions,  gunnery,  and  forti- 
fications, decimal  fractions,  practice,  and  the  rule-of-three 
direct,  the  way  he'd  be  able  to  keep  up  a  conversation 
with  the  royal  family.  Whether  he  ever  lost  his  time 
laming  them  sciences,  I'm  not  sure,  but  it's  as  sure  as 
fate  that  his  mother  never  more  saw  any  want  till  the  end 
of  her  days. 

C 


HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

The   Little  Weaver  of  Duleek 
Gate. 

From  "  Legends  and  Stories  of  Ireland." 
BY  SAMUEL  LOVER  (1791-1868.) 

THERE  was  a  waiver  lived,  wanst  upon  a  time,  in 
Duleek  here,  hard  by  the  gate,  and  a  very  honest,  indus- 
therous  man  he  was.  He  had  a  wife,  an'  av  coorse, 
they  had  childre,  and  small  blame  to  them,  so  that  the 
poor  little  waiver  was  obleeged  to  work  his  fingers  to 
the  bone  a'most  to  get  them  the  bit  and  the  sup,  and 
the  loom  never  standin'  still. 

Well,  it  was  one  mornin'  that  his  wife  called  to  him, 
"  Come  here,"  says  she,"  jewel,  and  ate  your  brekquest, 
now  that  it's  ready."  But  he  never  minded  her,  but  wint 
an  workin'.  "  Arrah,  lave  off  slavin'  yourself,  my 
darlin',  and  ate  your  bit  o'  brekquest  while  it  is  hot." 

"  Lave  me  alone,"  says  he,  "  I'm  busy  with  a  pattern 
here  that  is  brakin'  my  heart,"  says  the  waiver  ;  "  and 
antil  I  complate  it  and  masther  it  intirely  I  won't  quit." 

"  You're  as  cross  as  two  sticks  this  blessed  morning, 
Thady,"  says  the  poor  wife  ;  "  and  it's  a  heavy  handful 
I  have  of  you  when  you  are  cruked  in  your  temper  ; 
but,  stay  there  if  you  like,  and  let  your  stirabout  grow 
cowld,  and  not  a  one  o'  me  'ill  ax  you  agin  ;  "  and  with 
that  off  she  wint,  and  the  waiver,  sure  enough,  was 
mighty  crabbed,  and  the  more  the  wife  spoke  to  him  the 
worse  he  got,  which,  you  know,  is  only  nath'ral.  Well, 
he  left  the  loom  at  last,  and  wint  over  to  the  stirabout 
and  what  would  you  think,  but  whin  he  looked  at  it, 


THE  LITTLE   WEAVER  OF  DULEEK   GATE.  19 

it  was  as  black  as  a  crow — for,  you  see,  it  was  in  the 
heighth  o'  summer,  and  the  flies  lit  upon  it  to  that  degree 
that  the  stirabout  was  fairly  covered  with  them. 

"  Why,  thin,"  says  the  waiver,  "  would  no  place 
sarve  you  but  that  ?  and  is  it  spyling  my  brekquest  yiz 
are,  you  dirty  bastes  ? "  And  with  that,  he  lifted 
his  hand,  and  he  made  one  great  slam  at  the  dish  o' 
stirabout,  and  killed  no  less  than  three  score  and  tin 
flies  at  the  one  blow,  for  he  counted  the  carcases  one  by 
one,  and  laid  them  out  an  a  clane  plate  for  to  view  them. 

Well,  he  felt  a  powerful  sperit  risin'  in  him,  when  he 
seen  the  slaughter  he  done,  at  one  blow  ;  and  not  a 
sthroke  more  work  he'd  do  that  day,  but  out  he  wint 
and  was  fractious  and  impident  to  every  one  he  met, 
and  was  squarin'  up  into  their  faces  and  sayin',  "  Look 
at  that  fist !  that's  the  fist  that  killed  three  score  and  tin 
at  one  blow — Whoo  !  " 

With  that  all  the  neighbours  thought  he  was  crack'd, 
and  the  poor  wife  herself  thought  the  same  when  he 
kem  home  in  the  evenin',  afther  spendin'  every  rap  he 
had  in  dhrink,  and  swaggerin'  about  the  place,  and 
lookin'  at  his  hand  every  minit. 

"  Indeed,  an'  your  hand  is  very  dirty,  sure  enough, 
Thady,  jewel,"  says  the  poor  wife.  "  You  had  betther 
wash  it,  darlin'." 

"  How  dar'  you  say  dirty  to  the  greatest  hand  in 
Ireland  ?  "  says  he,  going  to  bate  her. 

"  Well,  it's  nat  dirty,"  says  she. 

"  It  is  throwin  away  my  time  I  have  been  all  my  life," 
says  he,  "  livin'  with  you  at  all,  and  stuck  at  a  loom, 
nothin'  but  a  poor  waiver,  when  it  is  Saint  George  or  the 
Dhraggin  I  ought  to  be,  which  is  two  of  the  siven 
champions  of  Christendom." 


20  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  Well,  suppose  they  christened  him  twice  as  much," 
says  the  wife,  "  sure,  what's  that  to  uz  ?  " 

"  Don't  put  in  your  prate,"  says  he,  "  you  ignorant 
sthrap,"  says  he.  "  You're  vulgar,  woman — you're 
vulgar — mighty  vulgar  ;  but  I'll  have  nothin'  more  to 
say  to  any  dirty,  snakin'  thrade  again — sorra  more 
waivin'  I'll  do." 

"  Oh,  Thady,  dear,  and  what'll  the  children  do  then  ?  " 

"  Let  them  go  play  marvels,"  says  he. 

"  That  would  be  but  poor  feedin'  for  them,  Thady." 

"  They  shan't  want  feedin'  ?  "  says  he,  "  for  it's  a 
rich  man  I'll  be  soon,  and  a  great  man,  too." 

"  Usha,  but  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,  darlin' — though  I 
dunno  how  it's  to  be,  but  I  think  you  had  betther  go 
to  bed,  Thady." 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  of  any  bed,  but  the  bed  o'  glory, 
woman,"  says  he,  lookin'  mortial  grand.  "  I'll  sleep 
with  the  brave  yit,"  says  he. 

"  Indeed,  an'  a  brave  sleep  will  do  you  a  power  o' 
good,  my  darlin,"  says  she. 

"  And -it's  I  that  will  be  a  knight  !  "  says  he. 

"  All  night,  if  you  plaze,  Thady,"  says  she. 

"  None  o'  your  coaxin',"  says  he.  "  I'm  determined 
on  it,  and  I'll  set  off  immediately,  and  be  a  knight  arriant." 

"  A  what  ?  "  says  she. 

"  A  knight  arriant,  woman." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  says  she." 

"  A  knight  arriant  is  a  rale  gintleman,"  says  he  ; 
"  going  round  the  world  for  sport,  with  a  soord  by  his 
side,  takin'  whatever  he  plazes  for  himself ;  and  that's 
a  knight  arriant,"  says  he. 

Well,  sure  enough  he  wint  about  among  his  neighbours 
the  next  day,  and  he  got  an  owld  kittle  from  one,  and  a 


THE   LITTLE   WEAVER  OF  DULEEK   GATE.  21 

saucepan  from  another,  and  he  took  them  to  the  tailor, 
and  he  sewed  him  up  a  shuit  o'  tin  clothes  like  any 
knight  arriant,  and  he  borrowed  a  pot  lid,  and  that  he  was 
very  particular  about,  bekase  it  was  his  shield,  and  he 
went  to  a  friend  o'  his,  a  painter  and  glazier,  and  made 
him  paint  an  his  shield  in  big  letthers  : — 

"  I'M  THE  MAN  OF  ALL  MIN, 
THAT  KILL'D  THREE  SCORE  AND  TIN 

AT   A  BLOW." 

"  When  the  people  sees  that,"  says  the  waiver  to 
himself,  "  the  sorra  one  will  dar  for  to  come  near  me." 

And  with  that  he  towld  the  wife  to  scour  out  the  small 
iron  pot  for  him,  "  for,"  says  he,  "  it  will  make  an 
illegent  helmet  ;  "  and  when  it  was  done,  he  put  it  an 
his  head,  and  his  wife  said,  "  Oh,  murther,  Thady, 
jewel  ;  is  it  puttin'  a  great,  heavy,  iron  pot  an  your 
head  you  are,  by  way  iv  a  hat  ?  " 

"  Sartinly,"  says  he,  "  for  a  knight  arriant  should 
always  have  a  weight  on  his  brain." 

"  But,  Thady,  dear,"  says  the  wife,  "  there's  a  hole 
in  it,  and  it  can't  keep  out  the  weather." 

"  It  will  be  the  cooler,"  says  he,  puttin'  it  an  him  ; 
"  besides,  if  I  don't  like  it,  it  is  aisy  to  stop  it  with  a 
wisp  o'  sthraw,  or  the  like  o'  that." 

"  The  three  legs  of  it  look  mighty  quare,  stickin' 
up,"  says  she. 

"  Every  helmet  has  a  spike  stickin'  out  o'  the  top  of 
it,"  says  the  waiver,  "  and  if  mine  has  three,  it's  only 
the  grandher  it  is." 

"  Well,"  says  the  wife,  getting  bitter  at  last,  "all  I 
can  say  is,  it  isn't  the  first  sheep's  head  was  dhress'd 
in  it." 


22  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  Your  sarvint,  ma'am,"  says  he  ;    and  off  he  set. 

Well,  he  was  in  want  of  a  horse,  and  so  he  wint  to  a 
field  hard  by,  where  the  miller's  horse  was  grazin',  that 
used  to  carry  the  ground  corn  round  the  counthry. 
"  This  is  the  identical  horse  for  me,"  says  the  waiver  ; 
"  he's  used  to  carryin'  flour  and  male,  and  what  am  I 
but  the  flower  o'  shovelry  in  a  coat  o'  mail ;  so  that  the 
horse  won't  be  put  out  iv  his  way  in  the  laste." 

So  away  galloped  the  waiver,  and  took  the  road  to 
Dublin,  for  he  thought  the  best  thing  he  could  do  was 
to  go  to  the  King  o'  Dublin  (for  Dublin  was  a  great  place 
thin,  and  had  a  King  iv  its  own).  When  he  got 
to  the  palace  courtyard  he  let  his  horse  graze  about  the 
place,  for  the  grass  was  growin'  out  betune  the 
stones ;  everything  was  flourishin'  thin  in  Dublin, 
you  see.  Well,  the  King  was  lookin'  out  of  his  dhrawin'- 
room  windy,  for  divarshin,  whin  the  waiver  kem  in  ; 
but  the  waiver  pretended  not  to  see  him,  and  he  wint 
over  to  the  stone  sate,  undher  the  windy — for,  you  see, 
there  was  stone  sates  all  round  about  the  place,  for  the 
accommodation  o'  the  people — for  the  King  was  a  dacent 
obleeging  man  ;  well,  as  I  said,  the  waiver  wint  over 
and  lay  down  an  one  o'  the  seats,  just  undher  the  King's 
windy,  and  purtended  to  go  asleep  ;  but  he  took  care 
to  turn  out  the  front  of  his  shield  that  had  the  letthers  an 
it.  Well,  my  dear,  with  that  the  King  calls  out  to  one 
of  the  lords  of  his  coort  that  was  standin'  behind  him, 
howldin'  up  the  skirt  of  his  coat,  accordin'  to  rayson, 
and,  says  he  :  "  Look  here,"  says  he,  "  what  do  you 
think  of  a  vagabone  like  that,  comin'  undher  my  very 
nose  to  sleep  ?  It  is  thrue  I'm  a  good  king,"  says  he, 
"  and  I  'commodate  the  people  by  havin'  sates  for  them 
to  sit  down  and  enjoy  the  raycreation  and  contimplation 


THE   LITTLE  WEAVER  OF   DULEEK   GATE.  23 

of  seein'  me  here,  lookin'  out  a'  my  dhrawin'-room 
windy,  for  divarsion  ;  but  that  is  no  rayson  they  are  to 
make  a  hotel  o'  the  place,  and  come  and  sleep  here. 
Who  is  it,  at  all  ?  "  says  the  King. 

"  Not  a  one  o'  me  knows,  plaze  your  majesty." 

"  I  think  he  must  be  a  furriner,"  says  the  King, 
"  because  his  dhress  is  outlandish." 

"  And  doesn't  know  manners,  more  betoken,"  says 
the  lord. 

"  I'll  go  down  and  circumspect  him  myself,"  says 
the  King  ;  "  folly  me,"  says  he  to  the  lord,  wavin' 
his  hand  at  the  same  time  in  the  most  dignacious  manner. 

Down  he  wint  accordingly,  followed  by  the  lord  ; 
and  when  he  wint  over  to  where  the  waiver  was  lying, 
sure  the  first  thing  he  seen  was  his  shield  with  the  big 
letthers  an  it,  and  with  that,  says  he  to  the  lord,  "  This 
is  the  very  man  I  want." 

"  For  what,  plaze  your  majesty  ?  "  says  the  lord. 

"  To  kill  the  vagabone  dhraggin',  to  be  sure,"  says 
the  King. 

"  Sure,  do  you  think  he  could  kill  him,"  says  the 
lord,  "  when  all  the  stoutest  knights  in  the  land  wasn't 
aiquil  to  it,  but  never  kem  back,  and  was  ate  up  alive 
by  the  cruel  desaiver  ?  " 

"  Sure,  don't  you  see  there,"  says  the  king,  pointin' 
at  the  shield,  "  that  he  killed  three  score  and  tin  at  one 
blow  ;  and  the  man  that  done  that,  I  think,  is  a  match 
for  anything." 

So,  with  that,  he  wint  over  to  the  waiver  and  shuck 
him  by  the  shouldher  for  to  wake  him,  and  the  waiver 
rubbed  his  eyes  as  if  just  wakened,  and  the  King  says 
to  him,  "  God  save  you,"  said  he. 


24  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  God  save  you  kindly,"  says  the  waiver,  purtendin' 
he  was  quite  unknownst  who  he  was  spakin'  to. 

"  Do  you  know  who  I  am,"  says  the  king,  "  that  you 
make  so  free,  good  man  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,"  says  the  waiver,  "  you  have  the 
advantage  o'  me." 

"  To  be  sure,  I  have,"  says  the  king,  moighty  high  ; 
"  sure,  ain't  I  the  King  o'  Dublin  ?  "  says  he. 

The  waiver  dhropped  down  on  his  two  knees  forninst 
the  King,  and,  says  he,  "  I  beg  your  pardon  for  the 
liberty  I  tuk  ;  plaze  your  holiness,  I  hope  you'll  excuse 
it." 

"  No  offince,"  says  the  King  ;  "  get  up,  good  man. 
And  what  brings  you  here  ?  "  says  he. 

"  I'm  in  want  of  work,  plaze  your  riverence,"  says 
the  waiver. 

"  Well,  suppose  I  give  you  work  ?  "  says  the  king. 

"  I'll  be  proud  to  sarve  you,  my  lord,"  says  the 
waiver. 

"  Very  well,"  says  the  King.  "  You  killed  three 
score  and  tin  at  one  blow,  I  understan',"  says  the  King 

"  Yis,"  says  the  waiver  ;  "  that  was  the  last  thrifle 
o'  work  I  done,  and  I'm  afraid  my  hand  'ill  go  out  o' 
practice  if  I  don't  get  some  job  to  do  at  wanst." 

"  You  shall  have  a  job  immediately,"  says  the  King. 
"  It  is  not  three  score  and  tin  or  any  fine  thing  like  that ; 
it  is  only  a  blaguard  dhraggin  that  is  disturbin'  the 
counthry  and  ruinatin'  my  tinanthry  wid  aitin'  their 
powlthry,  and  I'm  lost  for  want  of  eggs,"  said  the  King. 

"  Och,  thin,  plaze  your  worship,"  says  the  waiver, 
"  you  look  as  yellow  as  if  you  swallowed  twelve  yolks 
this  minit." 

"  Well,  I  want  this  dhraggin  to  be  killed,"  says  the 


THE  LITTLE  WEAVER  OF   DULEEK   GATE.  25 

King.  "  It  will  be  no  trouble  in  life  to  you  ;  and  I 
am  sorry  that  it  isn't  betther  worth  your  while,  for  he 
isn't  worth  fearin'  at  all  ;  only  I  must  tell  you  that  he 
lives  in  the  County  Galway,  in  the  middle  of  a  bog, 
and  he  has  an  advantage  in  that." 

"Oh,  I  don't  value  it  in  the  laste,"  says  the  waiver, 
"  for  the  last  three  score  and  tin  I  killed  was  in  a  soft 
place." 

"  When  will  you  undhertake  the  job,  thin  ?  "  says 
the  King. 

"  Let  me  at  him  at  wanst,"  says  the  waiver. 

"  That's  what  I  like,"  says  the  King,  "  you're  the  very 
man  for  my  money,"  says  he. 

"  Talkin'  of  money,"  says  the  waiver,  "  by  the  same 
token,  I'll  want  a  thrifle  o'  change  from  you  for  my 
thravellin'  charges." 

"  As  much  as  you  plaze,"  says  the  King  ;  and  with  the 
word  he  brought  him  into  his  closet,  where  there  was  an 
owld  stockin'  in  an  oak  chest,  bursting  wid  goolden 
guineas. 

"  Take  as  many  as  you  plaze,"  says  the  King  ;  and 
sure  enough,  my  dear,  the  little  waiver  stuffed  his  tin 
clothes  as  full  as  they  could  howld  with  them. 

"  Now  I'm  ready  for  the  road,"  says  the  waiver. 

"  Very  well,"  says  the  King  ;  "  but  you  must  have  a 
fresh  horse,"  says  he. 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  says  the  waiver,  who  thought 
he  might  as  well  exchange  the  miller's  owld  garron  for 
a  betther. 

And  maybe  it's  wondherin'  you  are  that  the  waiver 
would  think  of  goin'  to  fight  the  dhraggin  afther  what  he 
heerd  about  him,  when  he  was  purtendin'  to  be  asleep, 
but  he  had  no  sich  notion,  all  he  intended  was — to  fob 


26  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

the  goold,  and  ride  back  again  to  Duleek  with  his  gains 
and  a  good  horse.  But,  you  see,  cute  as  the  waiver  was, 
the  King  was  cuter  still,  for  these  high  quality,  you  see, 
is  great  desaivers  ;  and  so  the  horse  the  waiver  was  an 
was  learned  on  purpose  ;  and  sure,  the  minit  he  was 
mounted,  away  powdhered  the  horse,  and  the  sorra  toe 
he'd  go  but  right  down  to  Galway.  Well,  for  four  days 
he  was  goin'  evermore,  until  at  last  the  waiver  seen  a 
crowd  o'  people  runnin'  as  if  owld  Nick  was  at  their 
heels,  and  they  shoutin'  a  thousand  murdhers,  and 
cryin' — "  The  dhraggin,  the  dhraggin  !  "  and  he  couldn't 
stop  the  horse  nor  make  him  turn  back,  but  away  he 
pelted  right  forninst  the  terrible  baste  that  was  comin*  up 
to  him  ;  and  there  was  the  most  nefaarious  smell  o' 
sulphur,  savin'  your  presence,  enough  to  knock  you 
down  ;  and,  faith,  the  waiver  seen  he  had  no  time  to 
lose  ;  and  so  threwn  himself  off  the  horse  and  made  to 
a  three  that  was  growin'  nigh-hand,  and  away  he 
clambered  up  into  it  as  nimble  as  a  cat  ;  and  not  a  minit 
had  he  to  spare,  for  the  dhraggin  kem  up  in  a  powerful 
rage,  and  he  devoured  the  horse  body  and  bones,  in 
less  than  no  time  ;  and  then  began  to  sniffle  and  scent 
about  for  the  waiver,  and  at  last  he  clapt  his  eye  on  him, 
where  he  was,  up  in  the  three,  and,  says  he,  "  You 
might  as  well  come  down  out  o'  that,"  says  he,  "  for  I'll 
have  you  as  sure  as  eggs  is  mate." 

"  Sorra  fut  I'll  go  down,"  says  the  waiver. 

"  Sorra  care  I  care,"  says  the  dhraggin  ;  "  for  you're 
as  good  as  ready  money  in  my  pocket  this  minit,  for 
I'll  lie  undher  this  three,"  says  he,  "  and  sooner  or  later 
you  must  fall  to  my  share  ;  "  and  sure  enough  he  sot 
down,  and  began  to  pick  his  teeth  with  his  tail  afther 
a  heavy  brekquest  he  made  that  mornin'  (for  he  ate 


THE  LITTLE  WEAVER  OF  DULEEK   GATE.  27 

a  whole  village,  let  alone  the  horse),  and  he  got  dhrowsy 
at  last,  and  fell  asleep  ;  but  before  he  wint  to  sleep 
he  wound  himself  all  round  about  the  three,  all  as  one 
as  a  lady  windin'  ribbon  round  her  ringer,  so  that  the 
waiver  could  not  escape. 

Well,  as  soon  as  the  waiver  knew  he  was  dead  asleep, 
by  the  snorin'  of  him — and  every  snore  he  let  out  of 
him  was  like  a  clap  o'  thunder — that  minit  the  waiver 
began  to  creep  down  the  three,  as  cautious  as  a  fox  ; 
and  he  was  very  nigh  hand  the  bottom  when  a  thievin' 
branch  he  was  dipindin'  an  bruck,  and  down  he  fell 
right  a  top  o'  the  dhraggin  ;  but,  if  he  did,  good  luck 
was  an  his  side,  for  where  should  he  fall  but  with  his 
two  legs  right  acrass  the  dhraggin's  neck,  and  my  jew'l, 
he  laid  howlt  o'  the  baste's  ears,  and  there  he  kept  his 
grip,  for  the  dhraggin  wakened  and  endayvoured  for  to 
bite  him,  but,  you  see,  by  rayson  the  waiver  was  behind 
his  ears  he  could  not  come  at  him,  and,  with  that,  he 
endayvoured  for  to  shake  him  off ;  but  not  a  stir  could 
he  stir  the  waiver  ;  and  though  he  shuk  all  the  scales 
an  his  body,  he  could  not  turn  the  scale  agin  the  waiver. 

"  Och,  this  is  too  bad,  intirely,"  says  the  dhraggin  ; 
"  but  if  you  won't  let  go,"  says  he,  "  by  the  powers  o' 
wildfire,  I'll  give  you  a  ride  that'll  astonish  your  siven 
small  senses,  my  boy  "  ;  and,  with  that,  away  he  flew 
like  mad  ;  and  where  do  you  think  he  did  fly  ? — he  flew 
sthraight  for  Dublin.  But  the  waiver,  bein'  an  his 
neck,  was  a  great  disthress  to  him,  and  he  would  rather 
have  had  him  an  inside  passenger  ;  but,  anyway,  he 
flew  till  he  kem  slap  up  agin  the  palace  o'  the  king  ; 
for,  bein'  blind  with  the  rage,  he  never  seen  it,  and  he 
knocked  his  brains  out — that  is,  the  small  trifle  he  had, 
and  down  he  fell  spacheless.  An'  you  see,  good  luck 


28  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

would  have  it,  that  the  King  o'  Dublin  was  looking 
out  iv  his  dhrawin'-room  windy,  for  divarshin,  that  day 
also,  and  whin  he  seen  the  waiver  ridin'  an  the  fiery 
dhraggin  (for  he  was  blazin'  like  a  tar  barrel)  he  called 
out  to  his  coortyers  to  come  and  see  the  show. 

"  Here  comes  the  knight  arriant,"  says  the  King, 
"  ridin'  the  dhraggin  that's  all  a-fire,  and  if  he  gets  into 
the  palace,  yiz  must  be  ready  wid  the  fire  ingines," 
says  he,  "  for  to  put  him  out." 

But  when  they  seen  the  dhraggin  fall  outside,  they 
all  run  downstairs  and  scampered  into  the  palace  yard 
for  to  circumspect  the  curiosity  ;  and  by  the  time  they 
got  down,  the  waiver  had  got  off  o'  the  dhraggin 's 
neck  ;  and  runnin'  up  to  the  King,  says  he — 

"  Plaze,  your  holiness,  I  did  not  think  myself  worthy 
of  killin'  this  facetious  baste,  so  I  brought  him  to  yourself 
for  to  do  him  the  honour  of  decripitation  by  your  own 
royal  five  fingers.  But  I  tamed  him  first,  before  I 
allowed  him  the  liberty  for  to  dar'  to  appear  in  your 
royal  prisince,  and  you'll  oblige  me  if  you'll  just  make 
your  mark  with  your  own  hand  upon  the  onruly  baste 's 
neck."  And  with  that,  the  King,  sure  enough,  dhrew 
out  his  swoord  and  took  the  head  aff  the  dirty  brute, 
as  clane  as  a  new  pin. 

Well,  there  was  great  rejoicin'  in  the  coort  that  the 
dhraggin  was  killed  ;  and  says  the  King  to  the  little 
waiver,  says  he — 

"  You  are  a  knight  arriant  as  it  is,  and  so  it  would 
be  no  use  for  to  knight  you  over  agin  ;  but  I  will  make 
you  a  lord,"  says  he  "  and  as  you  are  the  first  man  I 
ever  heer'd  tell  of  that  rode  a  dhraggin,  you  shall  be 
called  Lord  Mount  Dhraggin',"  says  he. 

"  And   where's   my   estates,   plaze   your   holiness  ?  " 


THE   LITTLE  WEAVER  OF  DULEEK   GATE.  29 

says  the  waiver,  who  always  had  a  sharp  look-out  afther 
the  main  chance. 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  forget  that,"  says  the  King.  "  It  is 
my  royal  pleasure  to  provide  well  for  you,  and  for  that 
rayson  I  make  you  a  present  of  all  the  dhraggins  in  the 
world,  and  give  you  power  over  them  from  this  out," 
says  he. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  says  the  waiver. 

"  All !  "  says  the  king.  "  Why,  you  ongrateful 
little  vagabone,  was  the  like  ever  given  to  any  man 
before  ?  " 

"  I  believe  not,  indeed,"  says  the  waiver  ;  "  many 
thanks  to  your  majesty." 

"  But  that  is  not  all  I'll  do  for  you,"  says  the  king, 
"  I'll  give  you  my  daughter,  too,  in  marriage,"  says 
he. 

Now,  you  see,  that  was  nothin'  more  than  what  was 
promised  the  waiver  in  his  first  promise  ;  for,  by  all 
accounts,  the  King's  daughter  was  the  greatest  dhraggin 
ever  was  seen. 


30  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

Fionn   MacCumhail   and  the 
Princess. 

From  "  The  Shamrock" 

BY  PATRICK  J.  McCALL  (1861— ). 

(In  Wexford  Folk  Speech.) 

WANCE  upon  a  time,  when  things  was  a  great'le  betther 
in  Ireland  than  they  are  at  present,  when  a  rale  king 
ruled  over  the  counthry  wid  four  others  undher  him 
to  look  afther  the  craps  an'  other  indhustries,  there  lived 
a  young  chief  called  Fan  MaCool. 

Now,  this  was  long  afore  we  gev  up  bowin'  and  scrapin' 
to  the  sun  an'  moon  an'  sich  like  raumash  (nonsense)  ; 
an'  signs  an  it,  there  was  a  powerful  lot  ov  witches  an' 
Druids,  an'  enchanted  min  an'  wimen  goin'  about,  that 
med  things  quare  enough  betimes  for  iverywan. 

Well,  Fan,  as  I  sed  afore,  was  a  young  man  when  he 
kem  to  the  command,  an'  a  purty  likely  lookin'  boy, 
too — there  was  nothin'  too  hot  or  too  heavy  for  him  ; 
an'  so  ye  needn't  be  a  bit  surprised  if  I  tell  ye  he  was  the 
mischief  entirely  wid  the  colleens.  Nothin'  delighted 
him  more  than  to  disguise  himself  wid  an  ould  coata- 
more  (overcoat)  threwn  over  his  showlder,  a  lump  ov 
a  kippeen  (stick)  in  his  fist  and  he  mayanderin'  about 
unknownst,  rings  around  the  counthry,  lookin'  for  fun 
an'  foosther  (diversion)  ov  all  kinds. 

Well,  one  fine  mornin',  whin  he  was  on  the  shaughraun, 
he  was  waumasin'  (strolling)  about  through  Leinster, 
an'  near  the  royal  palace  ov  Glendalough  he  seen  a 
mighty  throng  ov  grand  lords  and  ladies,  an',  my  dear, 
they  all  dressed  up  to  the  nines,  wid  their  jewels  shinin' 


FIONN   MACCUMHAIL    AND   THE   PRINCESS.  31 

like  dewdrops  ov  a  May  mornin',  and  laughin'  like  the 
tinkle  ov  a  deeshy  (small)  mountain  strame  over  the 
white  rocks.  So  he  cocked  his  beaver,  an'  stole  over 
to  see  what  was  the  matther. 

Lo  an'  behould  ye,  what  were  they  at  but  houldin' 
a  race-meetin'  or  faysh  (festival) — somethin'  like  what 
the  quality  calls  ataleticks  now !  There  they  were, 
jumpin',  and  runnin',  and  coorsin',  an'  all  soorts  ov 
fun,  enough  to  make  the  trouts — an'  they're  mighty 
fine  leppers  enough — die  wid  envy  in  the  river  benaith 
them. 

The  fun  wint  on  fast  an'  furious,  an'  Fan,  consaled 
betune  the  trumauns  an'  brushna  (elder  bushes  and 
furze)  could  hardly  keep  himself  quiet,  seein'  the  thricks 
they  wor  at.  Peepin'  out,  he  seen,  jist  forninst  him 
on  the  other  bank,  the  prencess  herself,  betune  the 
high-up  ladies  ov  the  coort.  She  was  a  fine,  bouncin' 
geersha  (girl)  with  gold  hair  like  the  furze  an'  cheeks 
like  an  apple  blossom,  an'  she  brakin'  her  heart  laughin' 
an'  clappin'  her  hands  an'  turnin  her  head  this  a-way 
an'  that  a-way,  jokin'  wid  this  wan  an'  that  wan,  an' 
commiseratin',  moryah  !  (forsooth)  the  poor  gossoons  that 
failed  in  their  leps.  Fan  liked  the  looks  ov  her  well,  an' 
whin  the  boys  had  run  in  undher  a  bame  up  to  their 
knees  an'  jumped  up  over  another  wan  as  high  as  their 
chins,  the  great  trial  ov  all  kem  on.  Maybe  you'd 
guess  what  that  was  ?  But  I'm  afeerd  you  won't 
if  I  gev  you  a  hundhred  guesses  !  It  was  to  lep  the 
strame,  forty  foot  wide  ! 

List'nin'  to  them  whisperin'  to  wan  another,  Fan 
heerd  them  tellin'  that  whichever  ov  them  could  manage 
it  wud  be  med  a  great  man  intirely  ov  ;  he  wud  get  the 
Prencess  Maynish  in  marriage,  an'  ov  coorse,  would 


32  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

be  med  king  ov  Leinster  when  the  ould  king,  Garry, 
her  father,  cocked  his  toes  an'  looked  up  through  the 
butts  ov  the  daisies  at  the  shky.  Well,  whin  Fan  h'ard 
this,  he  was  put  to  a  nonplush  to  know  what  to  do  ! 
With  his  ould  duds  on  him,  he  was  ashamed  ov  his 
life  to  go  out  into  the  open,  to  have  the  eyes  ov  the  whole 
wurruld  on  him,  an'  his  heart  wint  down  to  his  big  toe 
as  he  watched  the  boys  makin'  their  offers  at  the  lep. 
But  no  one  of  them  was  soople  enough  for  the  job,  an' 
they  kep  on  tumblin',  wan  afther  the  other,  into  the 
strame  ;  so  that  the  poor  prencess  began  to  look  sorryful 
whin  her  favourite,  a  big  hayro  wid  a  colyeen  (curls) 
a  yard  long — an'  more  betoken  he  was  a  boy  o'  the  Byrnes 
from  Imayle — jist  tipped  the  bank  forninst  her  wid 
his  right  fut,  an'  then  twistin',  like  a  crow  in  the  air 
scratchin'  her  head  with  her  claw,  he  spraddled  wide 
open  in  the  wather,  and  splashed  about  like  a  hake  in 
9  mudbank  !  Well,  me  dear,  Fan  forgot  himself,  an' 
gev  a  screech  like  an  aigle  ;  an'  wid  that,  the  ould  king 
started,  the  ladies  all  screamed,  an'  Fan  was  surrounded. 
In  less  than  a  minnit  an'  a  half  they  dragged  me  bould 
Fan  be  the  collar  ov  his  coat  right  straight  around  to 
the  king  himself. 

"  What  ould  geochagh  (beggar)  have  we  now  ?  "  sez 
the  king,  lookin'  very  hard  at  Fan. 

"  I'm  Fan  MaCool  !  "  sez  the  thief  ov  the  wurruld, 
as  cool  as  a  frog. 

"  Well,  Fan  MaCool  or  not,"  sez  the  king,  mockin' 
him,  "  ye'll  have  to  jump  the  sthrame  yander  for 
freckenin'  the  lives  clane  out  ov  me  ladies,"  sez  he, 
"  an'  for  disturbin'  our  spoort  ginerally,"  sez  he. 

"  An'  what'll  I  get  for  that  same  ?  "  sez  Fan,  lettin.' 
on  (pretending)  he  was  afeered. 


FIONN   MACCUMHAIL    AND   THE   PRINCESS.  33 

"  Me  daughter,  Maynish,"  sez  the  king,  wid  a  laugh  ; 
for  he  thought,  ye  see,  Fan  would  be  drowned. 

"  Me  hand  on  the  bargain,"  sez  Fan  ;  but  the  owld 
chap  gev  him  a  rap  on  the  knuckles  wid  his  specktre 
(sceptre)  an'  to  wid  him  to  hurry  up,  or  he'd  get  the 
ollaves  (judges)  to  put  him  in  the  Black  Dog  pres'n  or 
the  Marshals — I  forgets  which — it's  so  long  gone  by  ! 

Well,  Fan  peeled  off  his  coatamore,  an'  threw  away  his 
bottheen  ov  a  stick,  an'  the  prencess  seein'  his  big 
body  an*  his  long  arums  an'  legs  like  an  oak  tree,  couldn't 
help  remarkin'  to  her  comrade,  the  craythur — 

"  Bedad,  Cauth  (Kate),"  sez  she,  "  but  this  beggarman 
is  a  fine  bit  of  a  bouchal  (boy),"  sez  she  ;  "  it's  in  the 
arumy  (army)  he  ought  to  be,"  sez  she,  lookin'  at  him 
agen,  an'  admirin'  him,  like. 

"  So,  Fan,  purtendin'  to  be  fixin'  his  shoes  be  the  bank, 
jist  pulled  two  lusmores  (fox-gloves)  an'  put  them 
anunder  his  heels  ;  for  thim  wor  the  fairies'  own 
flowers  that  works  all  soort  ov  inchantment,  an'  he,  ov 
coorse,  knew  all  about  it ;  for  he  got  the  wrinkle  from  an 
ould  lenaun  (fairy  guardian)  named  Cleena,  that  nursed 
him  when  he  was  a  little  stand-a-loney. 

Well,  me  dear,  ye'd  think  it  was  on'y  over  a  little 
creepie  (three-legged)  stool  he  was  leppin'  whin  he 
landed  like  a  thrish  jist  at  the  fut  ov  the  prencess  ;  an' 
his  father's  son  he  was,  that  put  his  two  arums  around 
her,  an'  gev  her  a  kiss — haith,  ye'd  hear  the  smack 
ov  it  at  the  Castle  o'  Dublin.  The  ould  king  groaned 
like  a  corncrake,  an'  pulled  out  his  hair  in  hatfuls,  an* 
at  last  he  ordhered  the  bowld  beggarman  off  to  be 
kilt  ;  but,  begorrah,  when  they  tuck  off  weskit  an* 
seen  the  collar  ov  goold  around  Fan's  neck  the  ould 

D 


34  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

chap  became  delighted,  for  he  knew  thin  he  had  the 
commandher  ov  Airyun  (Erin)  for  a  son-in-law. 

"  Hello  !  "  sez  the  king,  "  who  have  we  now  ?  "  sez 
he,  seem'  the  collar.  "  Begonny's,"  sez  he,  "  you're 
no  boccagh  (beggar)  anyways  !  " 

"  I'm  Fan  MaCool,"  sez  the  other,  as  impident  as 
a  cocksparra' ;  "  have  you  anything  to  say  agen  me  ?  " 
for  his  name  wasn't  up,  at  that  time,  like  afther. 

"  Ay  lots  to  say  agen  you.  How  dar'  you  be  comin' 
round  this  a-way,  dressed  like  a  playacthor,  takin' 
us  in  ?  "  sez  the  king,  lettin'  on  to  be  vexed  ;  "an' 
now,"  sez  he,  "  to  annoy  you,  you'll  have  to  go  an' 
jump  back  agen  afore  you  gets  me  daughter  for  puttin' 
on  (deceiving)  us  in  such  a  manner." 

"  Your  will  is  my  pleasure,"  sez  Fan  ;  "  but  I  must 
have  a  word  or  two  with  the  girl  first,"  sez  he,  an'  up 
he  goes  an'  commences  talkin'  soft  to  her,  an'  the  king 
got  as  mad  as  a  hatther  at  the  way  the  two  were  croo- 
sheenin'  an'  colloguin'  (whispering  and  talking),  an' 
not  mindin'  him  no  more  than  if  he  was  the  man  in  the 
moon,  when  who  comes  up  but  the  Prence  of  Imayle, 
afther  dryin'  himself,  to  put  his  pike  in  the  hay  too. 

"  Well,  avochal  (my  boy),"  sez  Fan,  "  are  you  dry 
yet  ?  "  an'  the  Prencess  laughed  like  a  bell  round  a 
cat's  neck. 

"  You  think  yourself  a  smart  lad,  I  suppose,"  sez 
the  other  ;  "  but  there's  one  thing  you  can't  do  wid 
all  your  prate  !  " 

"  What's  that  ?  "  sez  Fan.     "  Maybe  not  "  sez  he. 

"  You  couldn't  whistle  and  chaw  oatenmale,"  sez 
the  Prence  ov  Omayle,  in  a  pucker.  "  Are  you  any 
good  at  throwin'  a  stone  ?  "  sez  he,  then. 


FIONN   MACCUMHAIL   AND   THE  PRINCESS.  35 

"  The  best !  "  sez  Fan,  an'  all  the  coort  gother  round 
like  to  a  cock-fight.  "  Where'll  we  throw  to  ?  "  sez  he. 

"  In  to'ards  Dublin,"  sez  the  Prence  ov  Imayle ; 
an'  be  all  accounts  he  was  a  great  hand  at  cruistin 
(throwing). 

"  Here  goes  pink,"  sez  he,  an'  he  ups  with  a  stone, 
as  big  as  a  castle,  an'  sends  it  flyin'  in  the  air  like  a  cannon 
ball,  and  it  never  stopped  till  it  landed  on  top  ov  the  Three 
Rock  Mountain. 

"I'm  your  masther  !  "  sez  Fan,  pickin'  up  another 
clochaun  (stone)  an'  sendin'  it  a  few  perch  beyant  the 
first. 

"  That  you're  not,"  sez  the  Prence  ov  Imayle,  an' 
he  done  his  best,  an'  managed  to  send  another  finger 
stone  beyant  Fan's  throw  ;  an'  sure,  the  three  stones 
are  to  be  seen,  be  all  the  world,  to  this  very  day. 

"  Well,  me  lad,"  says  Fan,  stoopin'  for  another  as 
big  as  a  hill,  "  I'm  sorry  I  have  to  bate  you  ;  but  I  can't 
help  it,"  sez  he,  lookin'  over  at  the  Prencess  Maynish, 
an'  she  as  mute  as  a  mouse  watchin'  the  two  big  men, 
an'  the  ould  king  showin'  fair  play,  as  delighted  as  a 
child.  "  Watch  this,"  sez  he,  whirlin'  his  arm  like 
a  windmill,  "  and  now  put  on  your  spectacles," 
sez  he  ;  and  away  he  sends  the  stone,  buzzin'  through 
the  air  like  a  peggin'-top,  over  the  other  three  clochauns, 
and  then  across  Dublin  Bay,  an'  scrapin'  the  nose  off 
ov  Howth,  it  landed  with  a  swish  in  the  say  beyant  it. 
That's  the  rock  they  calls  Ireland's  Eye  now  ! 

"  Be  the  so  an*  so  !  "  sez  the  king,  "  I  don't  know 
where  that  went  to,  at  all,  at  all !  what  direct  did  you 
send  it  ? '  sez  he  to  Fan.  "  I  had  it  in  view,  till  it 
went  over  the  say,"  sez  he. 

"  I'm  bet !  "  sez  the  Prence  ov  Imayle.     "  I  couldn't 


36  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

pass  that,  for  I  can't  see  where  you  put  it,  even — good- 
bye to  yous,"  sez  he,  turnin'  on  his  heel  an'  makin' 
off  ;  "  an'  may  yous  two  be  as  happy  as  I  can  wish  you  !  " 
An'  back  he  went  to  the  butt  ov  Lugnaquilla,  an'  took  to 
fret,  an  I  understand  shortly  afther  he  died  ov  a  broken 
heart ;  an'  they  put  a  turtle-dove  on  his  tombstone  to 
signify  that  he  died  for  love  ;  but  I  think  he  overstrained 
himself,  throwin',  though  that's  nayther  here  nor  there 
with  me  story  ! 

"  Are  you  goin'  to  lep  back  agen  ?  "  sez  ould  King 
Garry,  wantin'  to  see  more  sport  ;  for  he  tuk  as  much 
delight  in  seein'  the  like  as  if  he  was  a  lad  ov  twenty. 

"  To  be  shure  I  will  !  "  sez  Fan,  ready  enough, 
"  but  I'll  have  to  take  the  girl  over  with  me  this  time  !  " 
sez  he. 

"Oh,  no,  Fan  !  "  sez  Maynish,  afeered  ov  her  life 
he  might  stumble  an'  that  he'd  fall  in  with  her  ;  an'  then 
she'd  have  to  fall  out  with  him — "  take  me  father  with 
you,"  sez  she  ;  an'  egonnys,  the  ould  king  thought 
more  about  himself  than  any  ov  them,  an'  sed  he'd  take 
the  will  for  the  deed,  like  the  lawyers.  So  the  weddin' 
went  on  ;  an'  maybe  that  wasn't  the  grand  blow-out. 
But  I  can't  stay  to  tell  yous  all  the  fun  they  had  for  a 
fortnit ;  on'y,  me  dear,  they  all  went  into  kinks  ov 
laughin',  when  the  ould  king,  who  tuk  more  than  was 
good  for  him,  stood  up  to  drink  Fan's  health,  an'  forgot 
himself. 

"  Here's  to'ards  your  good  health,  Fan  MaCool  1  " 
sez  he,  as  grand  as  you  like — "  an'  a  long  life  to  you,  an' 
a  happy  wife  to  you — an'  a  great  many  ov  them  !  "  sez 
he,  like  he'd  forgot  somethin'. 

Well,  me  dear,  every  one  was  splittin'  their  sides 
like  the  p'yates,  unless  the  prencess,  an'  she  got  as  red 


FIONN   MACCUMHAIL   AND  THE   PRINCESS.  37 

in  the  face  as  if  she  was  churnin'  in  the  winther  an'  the 
frost  keepin'  the  crame  from  crackin'  ;  but  she  got 
over  it  like  the  maisles. 

But  I  suppose  you  can  guess  the  remainder,  an'  as 
the  evenin's  gettin'  forrard  I'll  stop  ;  so  put  down  the 
kittle  an'  make  tay,  an'  if  Fan  and  the  Prencess  Maynish 
didn't  live  happy  together — that  we  may  1 


38  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

The   Kildare   Pooka. 

From  "  Legendary  Fictions  oj  the  Irish  Celts." 
BY  PATRICK  KENNEDY. 

MR.   H H ,  when   he   was   alive,  used   to  live 

a  good  deal  in  Dublin,  and  he  was  once  a  great  while 
out  of  the  country  on  account  of  the  "  ninety-eight  " 
business.  But  the  servants  kept  on  in  the  big  house 
at  Rath — all  the  same  as  if  the  family  was  at  home. 
Well,  they  used  to  be  frightened  out  of  their  lives,  after 
going  to  their  beds,  with  the  banging  of  the  kitchen 
door  and  the  clattering  of  fire-irons  and  the  pots  and 
plates  and  dishes.  One  evening  they  sat  up  ever  so 
long  keeping  one  another  in  heart  with  stories  about 
ghosts  and  that,  when — what  would  have  it  ? — the  little 
scullery  boy  that  used  to  be  sleeping  over  the  horses, 
and  could  not  get  room  at  the  fire,  crept  into  the  hot 
hearth,  and  when  he  got  tired  listening  to  the  stories, 
sorra  fear  him,  but  he  fell  dead  asleep. 

Well  and  good.  After  they  were  all  gone,  and  the 
kitchen  raked  up,  he  was  woke  with  the  noise  of  the 
kitchen  door  opening,  and  the  tramping  of  an  ass  in  the 
kitchen  floor.  He  peeped  out,  and  what  should  he  see 
but  a  big  ass,  sure  enough,  sitting  on  his  curabingo 
and  yawning  before  the  fire.  After  a  little  he  looked 
about  him,  and  began  scratching  his  ears  as  if  he  was 
quite  tired,  an,  says  he,  "  I  may  as  well  begin  first  as  last." 
The  poor  boy's  teeth  began  to  chatter  in  his  head,  for, 
says  he,  "  Now  he's  going  to  ate  me  "  ;  but  the  fellow 
with  the  long  ears  and  tail  on  him  had  something  else 
to  do.  He  stirred  the  fire,  and  then  brought  in  a  pail 


THE  KILDARE  POOKA.  39 

of  water  from  the  pump,  and  filled  a  big  pot  that  he  put 
on  the  fire  before  he  went  out.  He  then  put  in  his 
hand — foot,  I  mean — into  the  hot  hearth,  and  pulled  out 
the  little  boy.  He  let  a  roar  out  of  him  with  fright.  But 
the  pooka  only  looked  at  him,  and  thrust  out  his  lower 
lip  to  show  how  little  he  valued  him,  and  then  he  pitched 
him  into  his  pew  again. 

Well,  he  then  lay  down  before  the  fire  till  he  heard 
the  boil  coming  on  the  water,  and  maybe  there  wasn't 
a  plate,  or  a  dish,  or  a  spoon  on  the  dresser,  that  he 
didn't  fetch  and  put  into  the  pot,  and  wash  and  dry 
the  whole  bilin'  of  'em  as  well  as  e'er  a  kitchen  maid 
from  that  to  Dublin  town.  He  then  put  all  of  them  up 
on  their  places  on  the  shelves  ;  and  if  he  didn't  give 
a  good  sweepin'  to  the  kitchen,  leave  it  till  again.  Then 
he  comes  and  sits  foment  the  boy,  let  down  one  of 
his  ears,  and  cocked  up  the  other,  and  gave  a  grin.  The 
poor  fellow  strove  to  roar  out,  but  not  a  dheeg  (sound)  ud 
come  out  of  his  throat.  The  last  thing  the  pooka  done 
was  to  rake  up  the  fire  and  walk  out,  giving  such  a  slap 
o'  the  door,  that  the  boy  thought  the  house  couldn't 
help  tumbling  down. 

Well,  to  be  sure,  if  there  wasn't  a  huilabuloo  next 
morning  when  the  poor  fellow  told  his  story  !  They 
could  talk  of  nothing  else  the  whole  day.  One  said 
one  thing,  another  said  another,  but  a  fat,  lazy  scullery 
girl  said  the  wittiest  thing  of  all.  "  Musha,"  says  she, 
"  if  the  pooka  does  be  cleaning  up  everything  that  way 
when  we  are  asleep,  what  should  we  be  slaving  ourselves 
for  doing  his  work  ?  "  "  Sha  gu  dheine"  (yes,  indeed), 
says  another,  "  them's  the  wisest  words  you  ever  said, 
Kauth  ;  it's  meeself  won't  contradict  you." 

So  said,  so  done,  not  a  bit  of  a  plate  or  dish  saw  a  drop 


40  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

of  water  that  evening,  and  not  a  besom  was  laid  on  the 
floor,  and  everyone  went  to  bed  after  sundown.  Next 
morning  everything  was  as  fine  as  fine  in  the  kitchen, 
and  the  Lord  Mayor  might  eat  his  dinner  off  the  flags. 
It  was  great  ease  to  the  lazy  servants,  you  may  depend, 
and  everything  went  on  well  till  a  foolhardy  gag  of  a 
boy  said  he  would  stay  up  one  night  and  have  a  chat  with 
the  pooka.  He  was  a  little  daunted  when  the  door  was 
thrown  open  and  the  ass  marched  up  to  the  fire. 

"  And  then,  sir,"  says  he,  at  last,  picking  up  courage, 
"  if  it  isn't  taking  a  liberty,  might  I  ax  you  who  you 
are,  and  why  you  are  so  kind  as  to  do  a  half  a  day's  work 
for  the  girls  every  night  ?  "  "  No  liberty  at  all,"  says 
the  pooka,  says  he  :  "I'll  tell  you  and  welcome.  I 

was  a  servant  in  the  time  of  Squire  H 's  father,  and 

was  the  laziest  rogue  that  was  ever  clothed  and  fed, 
and  done  nothing  for  it.  When  my  time  came  for  the 
other  world,  this  is  the  punishment  was  laid  on  me  to 
come  here  and  do  all  this  labour  every  night,  and  then 
go  out  in  the  cold.  It  isn't  so  bad  in  the  fine  weather  ; 
but  if  you  only  knew  what  it  was  to  stand  with  your 
head  between  your  legs,  facing  the  storm  from  midnight 
to  sunrise  on  a  bleak  winter  night."  "  And  could  we  do 
anything  for  your  comfort,  my  poor  fellow  ?  "  says 
the  boy.  "  Musha,  I  don't  know,"  says  the  pooka : 
"  but  I  think  a  good  quilted  frieze  coat  would  help  me 
to  keep  the  life  in  me  them  long  nights."  "  Why,  then, 
in  truth,  we'd  be  the  ungratefullest  of  people  if  we  didn't 
feel  for  you." 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  the  next  night  the  boy 
was  there  again  ;  and  if  he  didn't  delight  the  poor  pooka, 
holding  a  fine,  warm  coat  before  him,  it's  no  matther  1 
Betune  the  pooka  and  the  man,  his  legs  was  got  into  the 


THE   KILDARE   POOKA.  41 

four  arms  of  it,  and  it  was  buttoned  down  the  breast  and 
belly,  and  he  was  so  pleased  he  walked  up  to  the  glass 
to  see  how  he  looked.  "  Well,"  says  he,  "  it's  a  long 
lane  that  has  no  turning.  I  am  much  obliged  to  you 
and  your  fellow  servants.  You  have  mr.de  me  happy 
at  last.  Good  night  to  you." 

So  he  was  walking  out,  but  the  other  cried,  "  Och  ! 
sure  you're  going  too  soon  What  about  the  washing 
and  sweeping  ?  "  "  Ah,  you  may  tell  the  girls  that  they 
must  now  get  their  turn.  My  punishment  was  to  last 
till  I  was  thought  worthy  of  a  reward  for  the  way  I 
done  my  duty  You'll  see  me  no  more."  And  no 
more  they  did,  and  right  sorry  they  were  for  having  been 
in  such  a  hurry  to  reward  the  ungrateful  pooka. 


42  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

The   Piper  and  the   Puca. 

From  "  An  Sgeuluidhe  Gaodhalach" 
BY  DOUGLAS  HYDE  (1860 — ). 

IN  the  old  times  there  was  a  half-fool  living  in  Dunmore, 
in  the  County  Galway,  and  though  he  was  excessively 
fond  of  music,  he  was  unable  to  learn  more  than  one 
tune,  and  that  was  the  "  Black  Rogue."  He  used  to 
get  a  deal  of  money  from  the  gentlemen,  for  they  used 
to  get  sport  out  of  him.  One  night  the  Piper  was 
coming  home  from  a  house  where  there  had  been  a 
dance,  and  he  half-drunk.  When  he  came  up  to  a  little 
bridge  that  was  by  his  mother's  house,  he  squeezed 
the  pipes  on,  and  began  playing  the  "  Black  Rogue." 
The  Puca  came  behind  him.  and  flung  him  on  his  own 
back  There  were  long  horns  on  the  Puca,  and  the 
Piper  got  a  good  grip  of  them,  and  then  he  said  : — 

"  Destruction  on  you,  you  nasty  beast ;  let  me  home 
I  have  a  tenpenny  piece  in  my  pocket  for  my  mother, 
and  she  wants  snuff." 

"  Never  mind  your  mother,"  said  the  puca,  "  but 
keep  your  hold.  If  you  fall  you  will  break  your  neck 
and  your  pipes."  Then  the  Puca  said  to  him,  "  Play 
up  for  me  the  '  Shan  Van  Vocht."  ' 

"  I  don't  know  it,"  said  the  Piper. 

"  Never  mind  whether  you  do  or  you  don't,"  said  the 
Puca.  "  Play  up,  and  I'll  make  you  know." 

The  Piper  put  wind  in  his  bag,  and  he  played  such 
music  as  made  himself  wonder. 

"  Upon  my  word,  you're  a  fine  music-master,"  says 
the  Piper,  then  ;  "  but  tell  me  where  you're  bringing  me." 


THE  PIPER   AND   THE   PUCA.  43 

"  There's  a  great  feast  in  the  house  of  the  Banshee, 
on  the  top  of  Croagh  Patric  to-night,"  says  the  Puca, 
"  and  I'm  for  bringing  you  there  to  play  music,  and, 
take  my  word,  you'll  get  the  price  of  your  trouble." 

"  By  my  word,  you'll  save  me  a  journey,  then,"  says 
the  Piper,  "  for  Father  William  put  a  journey  to  Croagh 
Patric  on  me  because  I  stole  the  white  gander  from 
him  last  Martinmas." 

The  Puca  rushed  him  across  hills  and  bog  and  rough 
places,  till  he  brought  him  to  the  top  of  Croagh  Patric 

Then  the  Puca  struck  three  blows  with  his  foot, 
and  a  great  door  opened,  and  they  passed  in  together 
into  a  fine  room. 

The  Piper  saw  a  golden  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
and  hundreds  of  old  worn  n  sitting  round  about  it. 

The  old  woman  rose  up  and  said,  "  A  hundred  thou- 
sand welcomes  to  you,  you  Puca  of  November.  Who 
is  this  you  have  with  you  ?  " 

"  The  best  Piper  in  Irel  nd,"  says  the  Puca. 

One  of  the  old  women  struck  a  blow  on  the  ground, 
and  a  door  opened  in  the  side  of  the  wall,  and  what 
should  the  Piper  see  coming  out  but  the  white  gander 
which  he  tad  stolen  from  Father  William. 

"  By  my  conscience,  then,"  says  the  Piper,  "  myself 
nd  my  mother  ate  every  taste  of  that  gander,  only  one 
wing,  and  I  gave  that  to  Red  Mary,  and  it's  she  told  the 
priest  I  stole  his  gander." 

The  gander  cleaned  the  table,  and  carried  it  away, 
and  the  Puca  said,  "  Play  up  music  for  these  ladies," 

The  Piper  played  up,  and  the  old  women  began 
dancing,  and  they  danced  till  they  tired.  Then  the 
Puca  said  to  pay  the  Piper,  and  every  old  woman  drew 
out  a  gold  piece  and  gave  it  to  him. 


44  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  By  the  tooth  of  Patric,"  says  he,  "  I'm  as  rich  as 
the  son  of  a  lord." 

"  Come  with  me,"  says  the  Puca,  "  and  I'll  bring  you 
home." 

They  went  out  then,  and  just  as  he  was  going  to  ride 
on  the  Puca,  the  gander  came  up  to  him  and  gave  him 
a  new  set  of  pipes. 

The  Puca  was  not  long  until  he  brought  him  to 
Dunmore,  and  he  threw  the  Piper  off  at  the  little  bridge, 
and  then  he  told  him  to  go  home,  and  says  to  him,  "  You 
have  two  things  now  that  you  never  had  before — you 
have  sense  and  music."  The  Piper  went  home,  and  he 
knocked  at  his  mother's  door,  saying,  "  Let  me  in,  I'm 
as  rich  as  a  lord,  and  I'm  the  best  Piper  in  Ireland." 

"  You're  drunk,"  says  the  mother. 

"  No,  indeed,"  says  the  Piper,  "  I  haven't  drunk  a 
drop." 

The  mother  let  him  in,  and  he  gave  her  the  gold 
pieces,  and,  "  Wait,  now,"  says  he,  "  till  you  hear  the 
music  I  play." 

He  buckled  on  the  pipes,  but  instead  of  music  there 
came  a  sound  as  if  all  the  geese  and  ganders  in  Ireland 
were  screeching  together.  He  wakened  all  the  neigh- 
bours, and  they  were  all  mocking  him,  until  he  put  on 
the  old  pipes,  and  then  he  played  melodious  music  for 
them  ;  and  after  that  he  told  them  all  he  had  gone 
through  that  night. 

The  next  morning,  when  his  mother  went  to  look  at 
the  gold  pieces,  there  was  nothing  there  but  the  leaves 
of  a  plant. 

The  Piper  went  to  the  priest  and  told  him  his  story, 
but  the  priest  would  not  believe  a  word  from  him,  until 


THE  PIPER  AND  THE  PUCA  45 

he  put  the  pipes  on  him,  and  then  the  screeching  of  the 
ganders  and  the  geese  began. 

"  Leave  my  sight,  you  thief,"  says  the  priest. 

But  nothing  would  do  the  Piper  till  he  put  the  old 
pipes  on  him  to  show  the  priest  that  his  story  was  true. 

He  buckled  on  his  old  pipes,  and  played  melodious 
music,  and  from  that  day  till  the  day  of  his  death  there 
was  never  a  Piper  in  the  County  Galway  was  as  good 
as  he  was. 


46  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

McCarthy   of  Connacht 

From  "  Folk  Tales  oj  Breflny" 
BY  B.  HUNT. 

THERE  was  a  fine  young  gentleman  the  name  of 
M'Carthy.  He  had  a  most  beautiful  countenance,  and  for 
strength  and  prowess  there  was  none  to  equal  him  in  the 
baronies  of  Connacht.  But  he  began  to  dwine  away, 
and  no  person  knew  what  ailed  him.  He  used  no  food 
at  all  and  he  became  greatly  reduced,  the  way  he  was 
not  able  to  rise  from  his  bed  and  he  letting  horrid  groans 
and  lamentations  out  of  him.  His  father  sent  for  three 
skilled  doctors  to  come  and  find  out  what  sort  of  disease 
it  might  be,  and  a  big  reward  was  promised  for  the  cure. 

Three  noted  doctors  came  on  the  one  day  and  they 
searched  every  vein  in  young  M'Carthy's  body,  but 
they  could  put  no  name  on  the  sickness  nor  think  of  a 
remedy  to  relieve  it.  They  came  down  from  the  room 
and  reported  that  the  disease  had  them  baffled  entirely. 

"  Am  I  to  be  at  the  loss  of  a  son  who  is  the  finest  boy 
in  all  Ireland  ?  "  says  the  father. 

Now  one  of  the  doctors  had  a  man  with  him  who 
was  a  very  soft-spoken  person,  and  he  up  and  says  : 

"  Maybe  your  honours  would  be  giving  me  permission 
to  visit  the  young  gentleman.  I  have  a  tongue  on  me 
is  that  sweet  I  do  be  drawing  the  secrets  of  the  world 
out  of  men  and  women  and  little  children." 

Well,  they  brought  him  up  to  the  room  and  they  left 
him  alone  with  M'Carthy.  He  sat  down  beside  the  bed 
and  began  for  to  flatter  him.  The  like  of  such  conversation 
was  never  heard  before. 


M'CARTHY    OF    CONNACHT.  47 

At  long  last  he  says,  "  Let  your  Lordship's  honour 
be  telling — What  is  it  ails  you  at  all  ?  " 

"  You  will  never  let  on  to  a  living  soul  ?  "  asks 
M'Carthy. 

"  Is  it  that  I'd  be  lodging  an  information  against  a 
noble  person  like  yourself  ?  "  says  the  man. 

With  that,  the  young  gentleman  began  telling  the 
secrets  of  his  heart. 

"  It  is  no  disease  is  on  me,"  says  he,  "  but  a  terrible 
misfortune." 

'  Tis  heart  scalded  I  am  that  you  have  either  a  sorrow 
or  a  sickness,  and  you  grand  to  look  on  and  better  to 
listen  to,"  says  the  other. 

"  It  is  in  love  I  am,"  says  M'Carthy. 

"  And  how  would  that  be  a  misfortune  to  a  fine  lad 
like  yourself  ?  "  asks  the  man. 

"  Let  you  never  let  on  !  "  says  M'Carthy.  "  The  way 
of  it  is  this  :  I  am  lamenting  for  no  lady  who  is  walking 
the  world,  nor  for  one  who  is  dead  that  I  could  be 
following  to  the  grave.  I  have  a  little  statue  which  has 
the  most  beautiful  countenance  on  it  that  was  ever 
seen,  and  it  is  destroyed  with  grief  I  am  that  it  will  never 
be  speaking  to  me  at  all." 

With  that  he  brought  the  image  out  from  under  his 
pillow,  and  the  loveliness  of  it  made  the  man  lep  off 
the  chair. 

"  I'd  be  stealing  the  wee  statue  from  your  honour 
if  I  stopped  in  this  place,"  says  he.  "  But  let  you  take 
valour  into  your  heart,  for  that  is  the  likeness  of  a  lady 
who  is  living  in  the  world,  and  you  will  be  finding  her 
surely." 

With  that  he  went  down  to  the  three  doctors  and  the 
old  man  who  were  waiting  below.  For  all  his  promises 


48  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

to  young  M'Carthy,  he  told  the  lot  of  them  all  he  was 
after  hearing.  The  doctors  allowed  that  if  the 
gentleman's  life  was  to  be  saved  he  must  be  got  out  of 
his  bed  and  sent  away  on  his  travels. 

"  For  a  time  he  will  be  hopeful  of  finding  her," 
says  the  oldest  doctor.  "  Then  the  whole  notion 
will  pass  off  him,  and  he  seeing  strange  lands  and  great 
wonders  to  divert  him." 

The  father  was  that  anxious  for  the  son's  recovery 
that  he  agreed  to  sell  the  place  and  give  him  a  big  handful 
of  money  for  the  journey. 

"  It  is  little  I'll  be  needing  for  myself  from  this  out, 
and  I  an  old  man  near  ripe  for  the  grave,"  says  he. 

So  they  all  went  up  to  the  room  and  told  young 
M'Carthy  to  rise  from  his  bed  and  eat  a  good  dinner, 
for  the  grandest  arrangements  out  were  made  for  his 
future  and  he'd  surely  meet  the  lady.  When  he  seen  that 
no  person  was  mocking  him  he  got  into  the  best  of 
humour,  and  he  came  down  and  feasted  with  them. 

Not  a  long  time  afterwards  he  took  the  big  handful 
of  money  and  set  out  on  his  travels,  bringing  the  statue 
with  him.  He  went  over  the  provinces  of  Ireland, 
then  he  took  sea  to  England,  and  wandered  it  entirely, 
away  to  France  with  him  next,  and  from  that  to  every 
art  and  part  of  the  world.  He  had  the  strangest 
adventures,  and  he  seen  more  wonders  than  could  ever 
be  told  or  remembered.  At  the  latter  end  h:  came 
back  to  the  old  country  again,  with  no  more  nor  a  coin 
or  two  left  of  the  whol ;  great  fortun  of  money.  The 
whole  time  he  never  seen  a  lady  who  was  the  least  like 
the  wee  statue  ;  and  the  words  of  the  old  doctor  were 
only  a  deceit  for  he  didn't  quit  thinking  of  her  at  all. 
M'Carthy  was  a  handsome  young  gentleman,  and  if 


M'CARTHY   OF   CONNACHT.  49 

it  was  small  heed  he  had  for  any  person  he  met  it  was 
great  notice  was  taken  of  him.  Sure  it  was  a  queen, 
no  less,  and  five  or  six  princesses  were  thinking  long 
thoughts  on  himself. 

The  hope  was  near  dead  in  his  heart,  and  the  sickness 
of  grief  was  on  him  again  when  he  came  home  to  Ireland. 
Soon  after  he  landed  from  the  ship  he  chanced  to  come 
on  a  gentleman's  place,  and  it  a  fine,  big  house  he  never 
had  seen  before.  He  went  up  and  inquired  of  the 
servants  if  he  would  get  leave  to  rest  there.  He  was  given 
a  most  honourable  reception,  and  the  master  of  the  house 
was  well  pleased  to  be  entertaining  such  an  agreeable 
guest.  Now  himself  happened  to  be  a  Jew,  and  that  is 
the  why  he  did  not  ask  M'Carthy  to  eat  at  his  table, 
but  had  his  dinner  set  out  for  him  in  a  eparate  room. 
The  servants  remarked  on  the  small  share  of  food  he 
was  using,  it  was  scarcely  what  would  keep  the  life  in 
a  young  chi  d  ;  but  he  asked  them  not  to  make  any 
observation  of  the  sort.  At  first  they  obeyed  him,  yet 
when  he  used  no  meat  at  all  on  the  third  day,  didn't 
they  speak  with  their  master. 

"  What  is  the  cause  of  it  at  all  ?  "  he  says  to  M'Carthy. 
"  Is  the  food  in  this  place  not  to  your  liking  ?  Let 
you  name  any  dish  you  have  a  craving  for,  and  the  cook 
will  prepare  it." 

"  There  was  never  better  refreshment  set  before  an 
emperor,"  says  M'Carthy. 

"It  is  civility  makes  you  that  flattering,"  answers 
the  Jew.  "  How  would  you  be  satisfied  with  the  meat 
which  is  set  before  you  when  you  are  not  able  to  use  any 
portion  of  it  at  all  ?  " 

"  I  doubt  I  have  a  sickness  on  me  will  be  the  means 
of  my  death,"  says  M'Carthy.  "  I  had  best  be  moving 


50  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

on  from  this  place,  the  way  I'll  not  be  rewarding  your 
kindness  with  the  botheration  of  a  corpse." 

With  that  the  master  of  the  house  began  for  to  speak 
in  praise  of  a  doctor  who  was  in  those  parts. 

"I  see  I  must  be  telling  you  what  is  in  it,"  says 
M'Carthy.  "  Doctors  have  no  relief  for  the  sort  of 
tribulation  is  destroying  me." 

He  brought  out  the  statue,  and  he  went  over  the  whole 
story  from  start  to  finish.  How  he  set  off  on  his  travels 
and  was  hopeful  for  a  while  ;  and  how  despair  got  hold  of 
him  again. 

"  Let  you  be  rejoicing  now,"  says  the  Jew,  "  for  it 
is  near  that  lady  you  are  this  day.  She  comes  down  to 
a  stream  which  is  convenient  to  this  place,  and  six 
waiting  maids  along  with  her,  bringing  a  rod  and  line  for 
to  fish.  And  it  is  always  at  the  one  hour  she  is  in  it." 

Well,  M'Carthy  was  lepping  wild  with  delight  to 
hear  tell  of  he  lady. 

"  Let  you  do  all  I'm  saying,"  the  Jew  advises  him. 
"  I'll  provide  you  with  the  best  of  fishing  tackle,  and  do 
you  go  down  to  the  stream  for  to  fish  in  it,  too.  Whatever 
comes  to  your  line  let  you  give  to  the  lady.  But  say 
nothing  which  might  scare  her  at  all,  and  don't  follow 
after  her  if  she  turns  to  go  home." 

The  next  day  M'Carthy  went  out  for  to  fish  ;  not  a 
long  time  was  he  at  the  stream  before  the  lady  came 
down  and  the  six  waiting  maids  along  with  her.  Sure 
enough  she  was  the  picture  of  the  statue,  and  she  had  the 
loveliest  golden  hair  ever  seen. 

M'Carthy  had  the  luck  to  catch  a  noble  trout,  and  he 
took  it  off  the  hook,  rolled  it  in  leaves,  and  brought  it 
to  the  lady,  according  to  the  advice  of  the  Jew.  She  was 
pleased  to  accept  the  gift  of  it,  but  didn't  she  turn  home 


M'CARTHY   OF   CONNACHT.  51 

at  once  and  the  six  waiting  maids  along  with  her.  When 
she  went  into  her  own  house  she  took  the  fish  to  her 
father. 

"  There  was  a  noble  person  at  the  stream  this  day," 
she  says,  "  and  he  made  me  a  present  of  the  trout." 

Next  morning  M'Carthy  went  to  fish  again,  and  he 
seen  the  lady  coming  and  her  six  waiting  maids  walking 
behind  her.  He  caught  a  splendid  fine  trout  and  brought 
it  over  to  her  ;  with  that  she  turned  home  at  once. 

"  Father,"  says  she,  when  she  went  in,  "  the  gentleman 
is  after  giving  me  a  fish  which  is  bigger  and  better  nor 
the  one  I  brought  back  yesterday.  If  the  like  happens 
at  the  next  time  I  go  to  the  stream  I  will  be  inviting  the 
noble  person  to  partake  of  refreshment  in  this  place." 

"  Let  you  do  as  best  pleases  yourself,"  says  her  father. 

Well,  sure  enough,  M'Carthy  got  the  biggest  trout 
of  all  the  third  time.  The  lady  was  in  the  height  of 
humour,  and  she  asked  would  he  go  up  to  the  house 
with  her  that  day.  She  walked  with  M'Carthy  beside 
her,  and  the  six  waiting  maids  behind  them.  They 
conversed  very  pleasantly  together,  and  at  last  he  found 
courage  for  to  tell  her  of  how  he  travelled  the  world 
to  seek  no  person  less  than  herself. 

"  I'm  fearing  you'll  need  to  set  out  on  a  second  journey, 
the  way  you  will  be  coming  in  with  some  other  one," 
says  she.  "  I  have  an  old  father  who  is  after  refusing 
two  score  of  suitors  who  were  asking  me  off  him.  I 
do  be  thinking  I'll  not  be  joining  the  world  at  all,  unless 
a  king  would  be  persuading  himself  of  the  advancement 
there  is  in  having  a  son-in-law  wearing  a  golden  crown 
upon  his  head.  The  whole  time  it  is  great  freedom  I 
have,  and  I  walking  where  it  pleases  me  with  six  waiting 
maids  along  with  me.  The  old  man  has  a  notion  they'd 


52  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

inform  him  if  I  was  up  to  any  diversion,  but  that  is  not 
the  way  of  it  at  all." 

"  It  is  funning  you  are,  surely,"  says  M'Carthy. 
"  If  himself  is  that  uneasy  about  you  how  would  it  be 
possible  you'd  bring  me  to  the  house  to  be  speaking 
with  him  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  kindly  man  and  reasonable,"  says  she, 
"  and  it  is  a  good  reception  you'll  be  getting.  Only 
let  you  not  be  speaking  of  marriage  with  me,  for  he 
cannot  endure  to  hear  tell  of  the  like." 

Well,  the  old  man  made  M'Carthy  welcome,  and  he 
had  no  suspicion  the  two  were  in  notion  of  each  other. 
But  didn't  they  arrange  all  unbeknownt  to  him,  and  plan 
out  an  elopement. 

M'Carthy  went  back  to  the  Jew,  and  he  told  him  all. 
"  But,"  says  he,  "  I  am  after  spending  my  whole  great 
fortune  of  money  travelling  the  territory  of  the  world. 
I  must  be  finding  a  good  situation  the  way  I'll  make 
suitable  provision  for  herself." 

"  Don't  be  in  the  least  distress,"  says  the  Jew.  "  I 
did  not  befriend  you  this  far  to  be  leaving  you  in  a  bad 
case  at  the  latter  end.  I'll  oblige  you  with  the  loan  of 
what  money  will  start  you  in  a  fine  place.  You  will 
be  making  repayment  at  the  end  of  three  years  when 
you  have  made  your  profit  on  the  business." 

The  young  gentleman  accepted  the  offer,  and  he  fair 
wild  with  delight.  Moreover,  the  Jew  gave  himself 
and  the  lady  grand  assistance  at  the  elopement,  the  way 
they  got  safe  out  of  it  and  escaped  from  her  father, 
who  was  raging  in  pursuit. 

M'Carthy  was  rejoicing  surely,  and  he  married  to  a 
wife  who  was  the  picture  of  the  statue.  Herself  was  in 
the  best  of  humour,  too,  for  it  was  small  delight  sh$ 


M'CARTHY    OF   CONNACHT.  53 

had  in  her  own  place,  roaming  the  fields  or  stopping 
within  and  six  waiting  maids  along  with  her.  A  fine, 
handsome  husband  was  the  right  company  for  her  like. 
They  bought  a  lovely  house  and  farm  of  land  with  the 
money  which  was  lent  by  the  Jew  ;  and  they  fixed  all 
the  grandest  ever  was  seen.  After  a  while  M'Carthy 
got  a  good  commission  to  be  an  officer,  the  way  nothing 
more  in  the  world  was  needful  to  their  happiness. 

M'Carthy  and  his  lady  had  a  fine  life  of  it,  they  lacking 
for  no  comfort  or  splendour  at  all.  The  officer's 
commission  he  had  brought  himself  over  to  England 
from  time  to  time,  and  the  lady  M'Carthy  would  mind 
all  until  he  was  home.  He  saved  up  what  money  was 
superfluous,  and  all  was  gathered  to  repay  the  loan 
to  the  Jew  only  for  a  few  pounds. 

Well,  it  happened  that  M'Carthy  went  to  England, 
and  there  he  fell  in  with  a  droll  sort  of  a  man,  who  was 
the  best  company.  They  played  cards  together  and  they 
drank  a  great  power  of  wine.  In  the  latter  end  a  dispute 
came  about  between  them,  for  they  both  claimed  to  have 
the  best  woman. 

"  I  have  a  lady  beyond  in  Ireland,"  says  M'Carthy, 
"  and  she  is  an  ornament  to  the  roads  when  she  is  passing 
alone.  But  no  person  gets  seeing  her  these  times,  and 
that  is  a  big  misfortune  to  the  world." 

"  What's  the  cause  ?  "  asks  the  Englishman. 

"I'd  have  a  grief  on  me  to  think  another  man  might 
be  looking  on  her  and  I  not  standing  by,"  says  M'Carthy. 
"  So  she  gives  me  that  satisfaction  on  her  promised  word  : 
all  the  time  I  do  be  away  she  never  quits  the  house, 
and  no  man  body  is  allowed  within." 

The  Englishman  let  a  great  laugh  out  of  him  at  the 
words. 


54  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  You  are  simple  enough !  "  says  he.  "  Don't 
you  know  rightly  when  you  are  not  in  it,  herself  will  be 
feasting  and  entertaining  and  going  on  with  every 
diversion  ?  " 

M'Carthy  was  raging  at  the  impertinence  of  him, 
and  he  offered  for  to  fight. 

"  What  would  that  be  proving  ?  "  says  the  Englishman. 
"  Let  you  make  a  powerful  big  bet  with  myself  that  I 
will  not  be  able  for  to  bring  you  a  token  from  your 
lady  and  a  full  description  of  her  appearance." 

"  I'll  be  winning  the  money  off  you,  surely  !  "  says 
M'Carthy. 

"  Not  at  all,"  says  the  Englishman.  "  I'm  not  in 
the  least  uneasy  about  it,  for  I'm  full  sure  it's  the  truth 
I'm  after  speaking  of  how  she  does  be  playing  herself 
in  your  absence." 

"  You'll  find  me  in  this  place  and  you  coming  back," 
says  M'Carthy.  "  Let  you  be  prepared  with  the  money 
to  have  along  with  you." 

The  Englishman  took  ship  to  Ireland,  and  he  came 
to  the  house  of  the  lady  M'Carthy.  Herself  was  in  the 
kitchen  making  a  cake,  and  she  seen  the  man  walking 
up  to  the  door.  Away  she  run  to  the  parlour,  and  in 
the  hurry  she  forgot  the  lovely  pearl  ring  she  took  off 
her  finger  when  she  began  at  the  cooking.  Well,  he 
found  the  door  standing  open,  and  he  seen  the  ring 
on  the  kitchen  table.  It  was  easy  knowing  it  was  no 
common  article  would  be  in  the  possession  of  any  one 
but  the  mistress  of  the  house.  What  did  the  lad  do, 
only  slip  in  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  With  that  the 
waiting  maid  came  and  asked  his  business,  the  lady 
M'Carthy  was  after  sending  her  down. 


M'CARTHY    OF    CONNACHT.  55 

"  Oh,  no  business  at  ail,"  says  he.  "  But  I  am  weary 
travelling  and  I  thought  I  might  rest  at  this  place." 

He  began  for  to  flatter  the  girl  and  to  offer  her  bribes, 
and  in  the  latter  end  he  got  her  to  speak.  She  told  him 
all  what  the  mistress  of  the  house  was  like  ;  how  she 
had  a  mole  under  her  right  arm,  and  one  on  her  left 
knee.  Moreover  she  gave  him  a  few  long  golden  hairs 
she  got  out  of  the  lady's  comb. 

The  Englishman  went  back  to  M'Carthy,  brought 
him  the  tokens,  and  demanded  the  payment  of  the  bet. 
And  that  is  the  way  the  poor  gentleman  spent  the  money 
he  had  saved  up  for  the  Jew. 

McCarthy  sent  word  to  his  wife  that  he  was  coming 
home,  and  for  her  to  meet  him  on  the  ship.  She  put 
her  grandest  raiment  upon  her  and  started  away  at  once. 
She  went  out  to  the  ship  and  got  up  on  the  deck  where 
she  seen  her  husband  standing.  When  she  went  over 
to  him  he  never  said  a  word  at  all,  but  he  swept  her  aside 
with  his  arm  the  way  she  fell  into  the  water.  Then  he 
went  on  shore  full  sure  he  had  her  drowned. 

But  there  was  another  ship  coming  in,  and  a  miller 
that  was  on  her  seen  the  lady  struggling  in  the  sea.  He 
was  an  aged  man,  yet  he  ventured  in  after  her  and  he 
saved  the  poor  creature's  life. 

Well,  the  miller  was  a  good  sort  of  a  man  and  he  had 
great  compassion  for  herself  when  she  told  him  her 
story.  She  had  no  knowledge  of  the  cause  of  her 
husband  being  vexed  with  her,  and  she  thought  it  hard 
to  believe  the  evidence  of  her  senses  that  he  was  after 
striving  to  make  away  with  her.  The  miller  advised 
the  lady  M'Carthy  to  go  on  with  the  ship,  which  was 
sailing  to  another  port,  for  maybe  if  she  went  home 
after  the  man  he  would  be  destroying  her. 


56  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

When  the  ship  came  into  the  harbour  the  news  was 
going  of  a  great  lawsuit. 

The  miller  heard  all,  and  he  brought  word  to  the  lady 
that  M'Carthy  was  in  danger  of  death. 

"  There  are  three  charges  against  him,"  says  the 
miller.  "  Your  father  has  him  impeached  for  stealing 
you  away,  and  you  not  wishful  to  be  with  him  :  that  is 
the  first  crime." 

"  That  is  a  false  charge,"  :  ays  she,  "  for  I  helped  for 
to  plan  the  whole  elopement.  My  father  is  surely 
saying  all  in  good  faith,  but  it  is  a  lie  the  whole  time." 

"  A  Jew  has  him  accused  for  a  sum  of  money  he 
borrowed,  and  it  was  due  for  repayment  :  that  is  the 
second  crime,"  says  he  miller. 

"  The  money  was  all  gathered  up  for  to  pay  the  debt," 
says  the  lady.  "  Where  can  it  be  if  M'Carthy  will  not 
p.oduce  it  ?  " 

"  The  law  has  him  committed  for  the  murder  of 
yourself :  and  that  is  the  third  crime,"  says  the  miller. 

"  And  a  false  charge,  too,  seeing  you  saved  me  in  that 
ill  hour.  I  am  thinking  I'd  do  well  to  be  giving  evidence 
in  a  court  of  law,  for  it's  maybe  an  inglorious  death 
they'll  be  giving  him,"  says  she. 

"  Isn't  that  what  he  laid  out  for  yourself  ?  "  asks  the 
miller. 

"  It  is  surely,  whatever  madness  came  on  him.  But 
I  have  a  good  wish  for  him  the  whole  time." 

"  If  that  is  the  way  of  it  we  had  best  be  setting  out," 
says  he. 

The  lady  and  the  miller  travelled  overland,  it  being 
a  shorter  journey  nor  the  one  they  were  after  coming 
by  sea.  When  they  got  to  the  court  of  law  wasn't  the 
judge  after  condemning  M'Carthy  ;  and  it  was  little 


M'CARTHY  OF  CONNACHT.  57 

the  poor  gentleman  cared  for  the  sentence  of  death  was 
passed  on  him. 

"  My  life  is  bitter  and  poisoned  on  me,"  says  he ; 
"  maybe  the  grave  is  the  best  place." 

With  that  the  lady  M'Carthy  stood  up  in  the  court 
and  gave  out  that  she  had  not  been  destroyed  at  all, 
for  the  miller  saved  her  from  the  sea. 

They  began  the  whole  trial  over  again,  and  herself 
told  how  she  planned  the  elopement,  and  her  father 
had  no  case  at  all.  She  could  not  tell  why  M'Carthy 
was  wishful  to  destroy  her,  and  he  had  kept  all  to  himself 
at  the  first  trial.  But  by  degrees  all  was  brought  to 
light  :  the  villainy  of  the  Englishman  and  the  deceit 
was  practised  on  them  by  him  and  the  servant  girl. 

I  was  decreed  that  the  money  was  to  be  restored 
by  that  villain,  and  the  Jew  was  to  get  his  payment  out 
of  it. 

The  lady  M'Carthy's  father  was  in  such  rejoicement 
to  see  his  daughter,  and  she  alive,  that  he  forgave  herself 
and  the  husband  for  the  elopement.  Didn't  the  three 
of  them  go  away  home  together  and  they  the  happiest 
people  who  were  ever  heard  tell  of  in  the  world. 


58  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

The  Mad  Pudding  of  Bally - 
boulteen. 

By  WILLIAM  CARLETON  (1794-1869). 
"MoLL  ROE  RAFFERTY.the  daughter  of  ould  JackRafferty, 
was  a  fine,  young  bouncin'  girl,  large  an'  lavish,  wid  a 
purty  head  of  hair  on  her — scarlet — that  bein'  one  of 
the  raisons  why  she  was  called  Roe,  or  red  ;  her  arms 
and  cheeks  were  much  the  colour  of  her  hair,  an'  her 
saddle  nose  was  the  puniest  thing  of  its  kind  that  ever 
was  on  a  face. 

"  Well,  anyhow,  it  was  Moll  Rafferty  that  was  the 
dilsy.  It  happened  that  there  was  a  nate  vagabone  in 
the  neighbourhood,  just  as  much  overburdened  wid 
beauty  as  herself,  and  he  was  named  Gusty  Gillespie. 
Gusty  was  what  they  call  a  black-mouth  Prosbytarian, 
and  wouldn't  keep  Christmas  Day,  except  what  they 
call  'ould  style.'  Gusty  was  rather  good-lookin', 
when  seen  in  the  dark,  as  well  as  Moll  herself  ;  anyhow, 
they  got  attached  to  each  other,  and  in  the  end  every- 
thing was  arranged  for  their  marriage. 

"  Now  this  was  the  first  marriage  that  had  happened 
for  a  long  time  in  the  neighbourhood  between  a 
Prodestant  and  a  Catholic,  and  faix,  there  was  of  the 
bride's  uncles,  ould  Harry  Connolly,  a  fairyman,  who 
could  cure  all  complaints  wid  a  secret  he  had,  and  as 
he  didn't  wish  to  see  his  niece  married  to  sich  a  fellow, 
he  fought  bitterly  against  the  match.  All  Moll's 
friends,  however,  stood  up  for  the  marriage,  barrin' 
him,  and,  of  coorse,  the  Sunday  was  appointed,  as  I 
said,  that  they  were  to  be  dove-tailed  together. 


THE  MAD  PUDDING  OF  BALLYBOULTEEN.      59 

"  Well,  the  day  arrived,  and  Moll,  as  became  her, 
went  to  Mass,  and  Gusty  to  meeting,  afther  which  they 
were  to  join  one  another  in  Jack  Rafferty's,  where  the 
priest,  Father  McSorley  was  to  slip  up  afther  Mass 
to  take  his  dinner  wid  them,  and  to  keep  Mister 
McShuttle,  who  was  to  marry  them,  company. 
Nobody  remained  at  home  but  ould  Jack  Rafferty  an' 
his  wife,  who  stopped  to  dress  for  dinner,  for,  to  tell 
the  truth,  it  was  to  be  a  great  let-out  entirely.  Maybe 
if  all  was  known,  too,  Father  McSorley  was  to  give  them 
a  cast  of  his  office  over  and  above  the  ministher,  in 
regard  that  Moll's  friends  were  not  altogether  satisfied 
at  the  kind  of  marriage  which  McShuttle  could  give  them. 
The  sorrow  may  care  about  that — splice  here,  splice 
there — all  I  can  say  is  that  when  Mrs.  Rafferty  was  goin' 
to  tie  up  a  big  bag  pudden,  in  walks  Harry  Connolly, 
the  fairyman,  in  a  rage,  and  shouts, '  Blood  and  blunder- 
bushes,  what  are  yez  here  for  ? ' 

"  *  Arrah,  why,  Harry  ?    Why,  avick  ? " 

"  '  Why,  the  sun's  in  the  suds,  and  the  moon  in  the 
high  Horricks  ;  there's  a  clip-stick  comin'  on,  and  there 
you're  both  as  unconsarned  as  if  it  was  about  to  rain 
mether.  Go  out  an'  cross  yourselves  three  times  in 
the  name  o'  the  four  Mandromarvins,  for,  as  the  prophecy 
says  : — '  Fill  the  pot,  Eddy,  supernaculum — a  blazin' 
star's  a  rare  spectaculum.'  Go  out,  both  of  you,  an* 
look  at  the  sun,  I  say,  an'  ye'll  see  the  condition  he's  in 
—off!' 

"  Begad,  sure  enough,  Jack  gave  a  bounce  to  the  door, 
and  his  wife  leaped  like  a  two-year-ould,  till  they  were 
both  got  on  a  stile  beside  the  house  to  see  what  was 
wrong  in  the  sky. 

"  '  Arrah,  what  is  it,  Jack  ? '  says  she,  '  can  you  see 
anything  ? ' 


60  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  '  No,'  says  he,  '  sorra  the  full  of  my  eye  of  anything 
I  can  spy,  barrin'  the  sun  himself,  that's  not  visible, 
in  regard  of  the  clouds.  God  guard  us  !  I  doubt 
there's  something  to  happen.' 

"  '  If  there  wasn't,  Jack,  what'd  put  Harry,  that  knows 
so  much,  in  that  state  he's  in  ? ' 

"  '  I  doubt  it's  this  marriage,'  says  Jack.  '  Betune 
ourselves,  it's  not  over  an'  above  religious  of  Moll  to 
marry  a  black-mouth,  an'  only  for —  ;  but,  it  can't 
be  helped  now,  though  you  see  it's  not  a  taste  o'  the 
sun  is  willing  to  show  his  face  upon  it.' 

"  '  As  to  that,'  says  his  wife,  winkin'  with  both  eyes, 
'  if  Gusty 's  satisfied  with  Moll,  it's  enough.  I  know 
who'll  carry  the  whip  hand,  anyhow  ;  but  in  the  manetime 
let  us  ax  Harry  within  what  ails  the  sun  ? ' 

"  Well,  they  accordingly  went  in,  and  put  this  question 
to  him,  '  Harry,  what's  wrong,  ahagur  ?  What  is  it 
now,  for  if  anybody  alive  knows  'tis  yourself  ? ' 

"  '  Ah,'  said  Harry,  screwin'  his  mouth  wid  a  kind 
of  a  dry  smile,  '  The  sun  has  a  hard  twist  o'  the  colic  ; 
but  never  mind  that,  I  tell  you,  you'll  have  a  merrier 
weddin'  than  you  think,  that's  all  '  ;  and  havin'  said 
this,  he  put  on  his  hat  and  left  the  house. 

Now,  Harry's  answer  relieved  them  very  much, 
and  so,  afther  callin'  to  him  to  be  back  for  dinner,  Jack 
sat  down  to  take  a  shough  o'  the  pipe,  and  the  wife 
lost  no  time  in  tying  up  the  pudden,  and  puttin'  it  in 
the  pot  to  be  boiled. 

"  In  this  way  things  went  on  well  enough  for  a  while, 
Jack  smokin'  away  an'  the  wife  cookin'  an'  dressin' 
at  the  rate  of  a  hunt.  At  last,  Jack,  while  sittin',  I  said, 
contently  at  the  fire,  thought  he  could  persave  an  odd 
dancin'  kind  of  motion  in  the  pot  that  puzzled  him  a 
good  deal. 


THE  MAD  PUDDING  OF  BALLYBOULTEEN.      6l 

Katty,'  says  he,  '  what  in  the  dickens  is  in  this 
pot  on  the  fire?  ' 

"  '  Nerra  a  thing  but  the  big  pudden.  Why  do  you 
ax  ?  '  says  she. 

'  Why,'  says  he,  '  if  ever  a  pot  tuk  it  into  its  head 
to  dance  a  jig,  this  did.  Thunder  and  sparbles,  look 
at  it !  ' 

"  Begad,  and  it  was  thrue  enough  ;  there  was  the  pot 
bobbin'  up  an'  down,  and  from  side  to  side,  jiggin'  it 
away  as  merry  as  a  grig  ;  an'  it  was  quite  aisy  to  see  that 
it  wasn't  the  pot  itself,  but  what  was  inside  it,  that 
brought  about  the  hornpipe. 

"  '  Be  the  hole  o'  my  coat,'  shouted  Jack,  '  there's 
somethin'  alive  in  it,  or  it  would  niver  cut  sich  capers  !  ' 

1  '  Begorra,  there  is,  Jack ;  something  sthrange 
entirely  has  got  into  it.  Wirra,  man  alive,  what's  to 
be  done  ? ' 

"  Jist  as  she  spoke  the  pot  seemed  to  cut  the  buckle  in 
prime  style,  and  afther  a  spring  that'd  shame  a  dancin' 
masther,  off  flew  the  lid,  and  out  bounced  the  pudden 
itself,  hoppin'  as  nimble  as  a  pea  on  a  drum-head  about 
the  floor.  Jack  blessed  himself,  and  Katty  crossed 
herself.  Jack  shouted  and  Katty  screamed.  '  In  the 
name  of  goodness,  keep  your  distance  ;  no  one  here 
injured  you  !  ' 

"  The  pudden,  however,  made  a  set  at  him,  and  Jack 
lepped  first  on  a  chair,  and  then  on  the  kitchen  table, 
to  avoid  it.  It  then  danced  towards  Katty,  who  was 
repatin'  her  prayers  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  while  the 
cunnin'  thief  of  a  pudden  was  hoppin'  an'  jiggin'  it 
around  her  as  if  it  was  amused  at  her  distress. 

14  If  I  could  get  a  pitchfork,'  says  Jack,  '  I'd  dale 
wid  it— by  goxty,  I'd  thry  its  mettle.' 


62  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

" '  No,  no,'  shouted  Katty,  thinkin'  there  was  a 
fairy  in  it ;  '  let  us  spake  it  fair.  Who  knows  what 
harm  it  might  do  ?  Aisy,  now,'  says  she  to  the  pudden  ; 
'  aisy,  dear  ;  don't  harm  honest  people  that  never  meant 
to  offend  you,  It  wasn't  us — no,  in  troth,  it  was  ould 
Harry  Connolly  that  bewitched  you  ;  pursue  him, 
if  you  wish,  but  spare  a  woman  like  me  !  ' 

"  The  pudden,  bedad,  seemed  to  take  her  at  her  word, 
and  danced  away  from  her  towards  Jack,  who,  like  the 
wife,  believin'  there  was  a  fairy  in  it,  an*  that  spakin' 
it  fair  was  the  best  plan,  thought  he  would  give  it  a  soft 
word  as  well  as  her. 

"  '  Plase  your  honour,'  said  Jack,  '  she  only  spakes 
the  truth,  an'  upon  my  voracity,  we  both  feels  much 
obliged  to  you  for  your  quietness.  Faith,  it's  quite 
clear  that  if  you  weren't  a  gentleman  pudden,  all  out, 
you'd  act  otherwise.  Ould  Harry,  the  rogue,  is  your 
mark  ;  he's  jist  down  the  road  there,  and  if  you  go  fast 
you'll  overtake  him.  Be  my  song,  your  dancin'-masther 
did  his  duty,  anyway.  Thank  your  honour !  God 
speed  you,  and  may  you  niver  meet  wid  a  parson  or 
alderman  in  your  th ravels.' 

Jist  as  Jack  spoke,  the  pudden  appeared  to  take  the 
hint,  for  it  quietly  hopped  out,  and  as  the  house  was 
directly  on  the  roadside,  turned  down  towards  the 
bridge,  the  very  way  that  ould  H  rry  went.  It  was 
very  natural,  of  coorse,  that  Jack  and  Katty  should  go 
and  see  how  it  intended  to  thravel,  and  as  the  day  was 
Sunday,  it  was  but  natural  too,  that  a  greater  number  of 
people  than  usual  were  passin'  the  road.  This  was  a 
fact ;  and  when  Jack  and  his  wife  were  seen  followin' 
the  pudden,  the  whole  neighbourhood  was  soon  up 
and  after  it. 


THE  MAD   PUDDING   OF   BALLYBOULTEEN.  63 

"  '  Jack  Rafferty,  what  is  it  ?  Katty,  ahagur,  will 
you  tell  us  what  it  manes  ? ' 

'  Why,'  replied  Katty,  *  it's  my  big  pudden  that's 
bewitched,  an'  it's  out  hot  pursuin' — here  she  stopped, 
not  wishin'  to  mention  her  brother's  name — *  someone 
or  other  that  surely  put  pishrogues  (a  fairy  spell)  an  it.' 

"  This  was  enough  ;  Jack,  now  seein'  he  had  assistance, 
found  his  courage  cornin'  back  to  him  ;  so  says  he  to 
Katty,  '  Go  home,'  says  he,  '  an'  lose  no  time  in  makin' 
another  pudden  as  good,  an'  here's  Paddy  Scanlan's 
wife  Bridget  says  she'll  let  you  boil  it  on  her  fire,  as 
you'll  want  our  own  to  dress  for  dinner  ;  and  Paddy 
himself  will  lend  me  a  pitchfork,  for  pursuin'  to  the  morsel 
of  that  same  pudden  will  escape,  till  I  let  the  wind  out 
of  it,  now  that  I've  the  neighbours  to  back  an'  support 
me,'  says  Jack. 

"  This  was  agreed  to,  an'  Katty  went  back  to  prepare 
a  fresh  pudden,  while  Jack  an'  half  the  townland  pursued 
the  other  wid  spades,  graips,  pitchforks,  scythes,  flails, 
and  all  possible  description  of  instruments.  On  the 
pudden  went,  however,  at  the  rate  of  about  six  Irish 
miles  an  hour,  an'  sich  a  chase  was  never  seen.  Catholics, 
Prodestants,  and  Prosbytarians  were  all  afther  it,  armed, 
as  I  said,  an'  bad  end  to  the  thing  but  its  own  activity 
could  save  it.  Here  it  made  a  hop,  there  a  prod  was 
made  at  it,  but  off  it  went,  and  someone,  as  eager  to  get 
a  slice  at  it  on  the  other  side,  got  the  prod  instead  of 
the  pudden.  Big  Frank  Farrell,  the  miller,  of  Bally- 
boulteen,  got  a  prod  backwards  that  brought  a  hullabulloo 
out  of  him  that  you  might  hear  at  the  other  end  of  the 
parish.  One  got  a  slice  of  the  scythe,  another  a  whack 
of  a  flail,  a  third  a  rap  of  the  spade,  that  made  him 
look  nine  ways  at  wanst. 


64  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  '  Where  is  it  goin'  ?  asked  one.  '  My  life  for  you, 
it's  on  its  way  to  meeting.  Three  cheers  for  it,  if  it 
turns  to  Carntaul  !  '  '  Prod  the  sowl  out  of  it  if  it's 
a  Prodestan,'  shouted  the  others  ;  '  if  it  turns  to  the  left, 
slice  it  into  pancakes.  We'll  have  no  Prodestan' 
puddens  here.' 

"  Begad,  by  this  time  the  people  were  on  the  point 
of  begginnin'  to  have  a  regular  fight  about  it,  when, 
very  fortunately,  it  took  a  short  turn  down  a  little 
by-lane  that  led  towards  the  Methodist  praychin'- 
house,  an'  in  an  instant  all  parties  were  in  an  uproar 
against  it  as  a  Methodist  pudden.  '  It's  a  Wesleyan,' 
shouted  several  voices  ;  '  an'  by  this  an'  by  that,  into 
a  Methodist  chapel  it  won't  put  a  foot  to-day,  or  we'll 
lose  a  fall.  Let  the  wind  out  of  it.  Come,  boys,  where 's 
your  pitchforks  ? ' 

"  The  divil  pursuin*  to  the  one  of  them,  however, 
ever  could  touch  the  pudden,  and  jist  when  they 
thought  they  had  it  up  against  the  gravel  of  the  Methodist 
chapel,  begad,  it  gave  them  the  slip,  and  hops  over  to 
the  left,  clane  into  the  river,  and  sails  away  before  their 
eyes  as  light  as  an  egg-shell. 

"  Now,  it  so  happened  that  a  little  below  this  place 
the  demesne  wall  of  Colonel  Bragshaw  was  built  up 
to  the  very  edge  of  the  river  on  each  side  of  its  banks  ; 
and  so,  findin'  there  was  a  stop  put  to  their  pursuit 
of  it,  they  went  home  again,  every  man,  woman,  and 
child  of  them,  puzzled  to  think  what  the  pudden  was  at 
all,  what  it  meant,  or  where  it  was  goin'.  Had  Jack 
Rafferty  an'  his  wife  been  willin'  to  let  out  the  opinion 
they  held  about  Henry  Connolly  bewitchin'  it,  there  is 
no  doubt  of  it  but  poor  Harry  might  be  badly  trated 
by  the  crowd,  when  their  blood  was  up.  They  had 


THE  MAD  PUDDING  OF  BALLYBOULTEEN.      65 

sense  enough,  howaniver,  to  keep  that  to  themselves, 
for  Harry,  bein'  an  ould  bachelor,  was  a  kind  friend  to 
the  Raffertys.  So,  of  coorse,  there  was  all  kinds  of 
talk  about  it — some  guessin'  this,  an'  some  guessin'  that — 
one  party  sayin'  the  pudden  was  of  their  side,  and 
another  denyin*  it,  an'  insisting  it  belonged  to  them, 
an'  so  on. 

"  In  the  meantime,  Katty  Rafferty  for  'fraid  the  dinner 
might  come  short,  went  home  and  made  another  pudden 
much  about  the  same  size  as  the  one  that  had  escaped, 
an'  bringing  it  over  to  their  next  neighbour,  Paddy 
Scanlan's,  it  was  put  into  a  pot,  and  placed  on  the  fire 
to  boil,  hopin'  that  it  might  be  done  in  time,  espishilly 
as  they  were  to  have  the  ministher,  who  loved  a  warm 
slice  of  a  good  pudden  as  well  as  e'er  a  gentleman  in 
Europe. 

"  Anyhow,  the  day  passed  ;  Moll  and  Gusty  were 
made  man  an'  wife,  an'  no  two  could  be  more  lovin'. 
Their  friends  that  had  been  asked  to  the  weddin'  were 
saunterin'  about  in  the  pleasant  little  groups  till  dinner- 
time, chattin'  an'  laughin'  ;  but,  above  all  things, 
sthrivin'  to  account  for  the  figaries  of  the  pudden  ;  for, 
to  tell  the  truth,  its  adventures  had  now  gone  through 
the  whole  parish. 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,  dinner-time  was  drawin'  near, 
and  Paddy  Scanlan  was  sittin'  comfortably  wid  his 
wife  at  the  fire,  the  pudden  boilin'  before  their  eyes 
when  in  walks  Harry  Connolly  in  a  flutter,  shoutin' 
'  Blood  and  blunder-bushes,  what  are  yez  here  for  ?  ' 

"  '  Arrah,  why,  Harry — why,  avick  ? '  said  Mrs. 
Scanlan. 

"  '  Why,'  said  Harry,  '  the  sun's  in  the  suds,  an'  the 
moon  in  the  high  Horricks  !  Here's  a  dipstick  comin' 

F 


66  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

on,  an'  there  you  sit  as  unconsarned  as  if  it  was  about 
to  rain  mether  !  Go  out,  both  of  you,  an'  look  at  the 
sun,  I  say,  an'  ye'll  see  the  condition  he's  in — off !  ' 

"  '  Ay,  but,  Harry,  what's  that  rowled  up  in  the  tail 
of  your  cothamore  (big  coat)  ? ' 

"  '  Out  wid  yez,'  says  Harry,  '  an'  pray  against  the 
clipstick — the  sky's  fallin' ! ' 

"  Begad,  it  was  hard  to  say  whether  Paddy  or  the  wife 
got  out  first,  they  were  so  much  alarmed  by  Harry's 
wild,  thin  face  and  piercin'  eyes  ;  so  out  they  went  to 
see  what  was  wonderful  in  the  sky,  an'  kep  lookin'  in 
every  direction,  but  not  a  thing  was  to  be  seen,  barrin' 
the  sun  shinin'  down  wid  great  good-humour,  an'  not 
a  single  cloud  in  the  sky. 

"  Paddy  an'  the  wife  now  came  in  laughin'  to  scould 
Harry,  who,  no  doubt,  was  a  great  wag  in  his  way  when 
he  wished.  '  Musha,  bad  scran  to  you,  Harry—' 
and  they  had  time  to  say  no  more,  howandiver,  for, 
as  they  were  goin'  into  the  door,  they  met  him  comin* 
out  of  it,  wid  a  reek  of  smoke  out  of  his  tail  like  a  lime- 
kiln. 

"  '  Harry,'  shouted  Bridget,  '  my  sowl  to  glory,  but 
the  tail  of  your  cothamore 's  afire — you'll  be  burned. 
Don't  you  see  the  smoke  that's  out  of  it  ? ' 

"  '  Cross  yourselves  three  times,'  said  Harry,  without 
stoppin'  or  even  lookin'  behind  him, '  for  as  the  prophecy 
says,  Fill  the  pot,  Eddy —  They  could  hear  no  more, 
for  Harry  appeared  to  feel  like  a  man  that  carried  some- 
thing a  great  deal  hotter  than  he  wished,  as  anyone 
might  see  by  the  liveliness  of  his  motions,  and  the  qua  re 
faces  he  was  forced  to  make  as  he  went  along. 

"  *  What  the  dickens  is  he  carryin'  in  the  skirts  of 
his  big  coat  ? '  asked  Paddy. 


THE  MAD  PUDDING  OF  BALLYBOULTEEN.      67 

1 '  My  sowl  to  happiness,  but  maybe  he  has  stolen 
the  pudden,'  said  Bridget,  '  for  it's  known  that  many 
a  sthrange  thing  he  does. 

"  They  immediately  examined  the  pot,  but  found  that 
the  pudden  was  there,  as  safe  as  tuppence,  an'  this 
puzzled  them  the  more  to  think  what  it  was  he  could  be 
carryin'  about  with  him  in  the  manner  he  did.  But 
little  they  knew  what  he  had  done  while  they  were  sky- 
gazin' ! 

"  Well,  anyhow,  the  day  passed,  and  the  dinner  was 
ready  an*  no  doubt  but  a  fine  gatherin'  there  was  to 
partak.e  of  it.  The  Prosbytarian  ministher  met  the 
Methodist  praycher — a  divilish  stretcher  of  an  appetite 
he  had,  in  throth — on  his  way  to  Jack  Rafferty's, 
an'  as  he  knew  he  could  take  the  liberty,  why,  he  insisted 
on  his  dining  wid  him  ;  for,  afther  all,  in  thim  days 
the  clergy  of  all  descriptions  lived  upon  the  best  footin' 
among  one  another  not  all  at  one  as  now — but  no  matther. 
Well,  they  had  nearly  finished  their  dinner,  when  Jack 
Rafferty  himself  axed  Katty  for  the  pudden  ;  but  jist 
as  he  spoke,  in  it  came,  as  big  as  a  mess-pot. 

' '  Gentlemen,'  said  he,  '  I  hope  none  of  you  will 
refuse  tastin'  a  bit  of  Katty's  pudden  ;  I  don't  mane  the 
dancin'  one  that  took  to  its  thravels  to-day,  but  a  good, 
solid  fellow  that  she  med  since.' 

'  To  be  sure  we  won't,'  replied  the  priest.  '  So, 
Jack,  put  a  thrifle  on  them  three  plates  at  your  right 
hand,  and  send  them  over  here  to  the  clargy,  an'  maybe,' 
he  said,  laughin' — for  he  was  a  droll,  good-humoured 
man — '  maybe,  Jack,  we  won't  set  you  a  proper  example.' 
'  Wid  a  heart  an'  a  half,  your  riverence  an'  gintlemen  ; 
in  throth,  it's  not  a  bad  example  ever  any  of  you  set  us 
at  the  likes,  or  ever  will  set  us,  I'll  go  bail.  An'  sure, 


68  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

I  only  wish  it  was  betther  fare  I  had  for  you  ;  but  we're 
humble  people,  gintlemen,  an'  so  you  can't  expect  to 
meet  here  what  you  would  in  higher  places.' 

"  '  Betther  a  male  of  herbs,'  said  the  Methodist 
praycher,  '  where  pace  is —  He  had  time  to  go  no 
further,  however  ;  for,  much  to  his  amazement,  the 
priest  an'  the  ministher  started  up  from  the  table,  jist 
as  he  was  going  to  swallow  the  first  mouthful  of  the 
pudden,  and,  before  you  could  say  Jack  Robinson, 
started  away  at  a  lively  jig  down  the  floor. 

"  At  this  moment  a  neighbour's  son  came  runnin' 
in,  and  tould  them  that  the  parson  was  comin'  to  see 
the  new-married  couple,  an'  wish  them  all  happiness  ; 
an'  the  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth  when  he 
made  his  appearance.  What  to  think  he  knew  not, 
when  he  saw  the  ministher  footin'  it  away  at  the  rate  of 
a  weddin'.  He  had  very  little  time,  however,  to  think  ; 
for,  before  he  could  sit  down,  up  starts  the  Methodist 
praycher,  an',  clappin'  his  fists  in  his  sides,  chimes 
in  in  great  style  along  wid  him. 

'  '  Jack  Rafferty,'  says  he,  and,  by  the  way,  Jack 
was  his  tenant,  *  what  the  dickens  does  all  this  mane  ? ' 
says  he  ;  'I'm  amazed  ! ' 

'  Then  not  a  particle  o'  me  can  tell  you,'  says  Jack  ; 
1  but  will  your  reverence  jist  taste  a  morsel  o'  pudden, 
merely  that  the  young  couple  may  boast  that  you  ait 
at  their  weddin'  ;  '  for  sure,  if  you  wouldn't,  who 
would  ? ' 

'  Well,'  says  he,  to  gratify  them,  I  will  ;  so,  just 
a  morsel.  But,  Jack,  this  bates  Banagher,'  says  he 
again,  puttin'  the  spoonful  of  pudden  into  his  mouth  ; 
'  has  there  been  drink  here  ? ' 

' '  Oh,  the  divil  a  spudh,'  says    Jack,  '  for  although 


THE  MAD   PUDDING   OF  BALLYBOULTEEN.  69 

there's  plenty  in  the  house,  faith,  it  appears  the  gentlemen 
wouldn't  wait  for  it.  Unless  they  tuck  it  elsewhere,  I 
can  make  nothin'  o'  this.' 

"  He  had  scarcely  spoken  when  the  parson,  who  was 
an  active  man,  cut  a  caper  a  yard  high,  an'  before  you 
could  bless  yourself,  the  three  clargy  were  hard  at  work 
dancin',  as  if  for  a  wager.  Begad,  it  would  be  unpossible 
for  me  to  tell  you  the  state  the  whole  meetin'  was  in 
when  they  see  this.  Some  were  hoarse  wid  laughin'  ; 
some  turned  up  their  eyes  wid  wondher  ;  many  thought 
them  mad  ;  and  others  thought  they  had  turned  up 
their  little  ringers  a  thrifle  too  often. 

'  Be  Goxty,  it's  a  burnin'  shame,'  said  one,  '  to  see 
three  black- mouth  clargy  in  sich  a  state  at  this  early 
hour  !  "  '  Thunder  an'  ounze,  what's  over  them  all  ?  ' 
says  others  ;  '  why,  one  would  think  they  were  bewitched. 
Holy  Moses,  look  at  the  caper  the  Methodist  cuts  ! 
An'  as  for  the  Recthor,  who  would  think  he  could  handle 
his  feet  at  sich  a  rate  !  Be  this,  an'  be  that,  he  cuts  the 
buckle,  an'  does  the  threblin'  step  aiquil  to  Paddy 
Horaghan,  the  dancin'-masther  himself !  An'  see ! 
Bad  cess  to  the  morsel  of  the  parson  that's  not  too  hard 
at  "  Pease  upon  a  Trancher,"  and  it  upon  a  Sunday, 
too  !  Whirroo,  gintlemen,  the  fun's  in  yez,  afther  all — 
whish  !  more  power  to  yez  !  ' 

"  The  sorra's  own  fun  they  had,  an'  no  wondher  ; 
but  judge  of  what  they  felt  when  all  at  once  they  saw  ould 
Jack  Rafferty  himself  bouncin'  in  among  them,  an' 
footin'  it  away  like  the  best  of  them.  Bedad,  no  play 
could  come  up  to  it,  an'  nothin'  could  be  heard  but 
laughin',  shouts  of  encouragement,  an'  clappin'  of  hands 
like  mad.  Now,  the  minute  Jack  Rafferty  left  the  chair, 
where  he  had  been  carvin'  the  pudden,  ould  Harry 


70  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

Connolly  come  over  and  claps  himself  down  in  his  place, 
in  ordher  to  send  it  round,  of  coorse  ;  an'  he  was  scarcely 
sated  when  who  should  make  his  appearance  but  Barney 
Hartigan,  the  piper.  Barney,  by  the  way,  had  been  sent 
for  early  in  the  day,  but,  bein'  from  home  when  the 
message  for  him  came,  he  couldn't  come  any  sooner. 

"  '  Begorra  '  says  Barney, '  you're  airly  at  the  work, 
gintlemen !  But  what  does  this  mane  ?  But  divel 
may  care,  yez  shan't  want  the  music,  while  there's  a 
blast  in  the  pipes,  anyhow  ! '  So  sayin'  he  gave  them 
"  Jig  Polthogue,"  and  afther  that,  "  Kiss  my  Lady  "  in  his 
best  style. 

In  the  manetime  the  fun  went  on  thick  and  threefold, 
for  it  must  be  remembered  that  Harry,  the  ould  knave, 
was  at  the  pudden  ;  an'  maybe,  he  didn't  sarve  it  about 
in  double-quick  time,  too  !  The  first  he  helped  was 
the  bride,  and  before  you  could  say  chopstick  she  was 
at  it  hard  and  fast,  before  the  Methodist  praycher,  who 
gave  a  jolly  spring  before  her  that  threw  them  all  into 
convulsions.  Harry  liked  this,  and  made  up  his  mind 
soon  to  find  partners  for  the  rest ;  an',  to  make  a  long 
story  short,  barrin'  the  piper  an'  himself,  there  wasn't 
a  pair  of  heels  in  the  house  but  was  busy  at  the  dancin' 
as  if  their  lives  depended  on  it. 

; '  Barney,'  says  Harry,  '  jist  taste  a  morsel  o'  this 
pudden  ;  divil  the  sich  a  bully  of  a  pudden  ever  you  ett. 
Here,  your  sowl !  thry  a  snig  of  it — it's  beautiful ! ' 

"  '  To  be  sure  I  will,'  says  Barney.  '  I'm  not  the  boy 
to  refuse  a  good  thing.  But,  Harry,  be  quick,  for  you 
know  my  hands  is  engaged,  an'  it  would  be  a  thousand 
pities  not  to  keep  them  in  music,  an'  they  so  well  inclined. 
Thank  you,  Harry.  Begad,  that  is  a  fine  pudden. 
But,  blood  an'  turnips  !  what's  this  for  ? ' 


THE   MAD   PUDDING  OF  BALLYBOULTEEN.  71 

"  The  words  was  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth  when  he 
bounced  up,  pipes  an'  all,  and  dashed  into  the  middle  of 
the  party.  '  Hurroo  !  your  sowls,  let  us  make  a  night 
of  it !  The  Ballyboulteen  boys  for  ever  !  Go  it,  your 
reverence  ! — turn  your  partner — heel  and  toe,  ministher. 
Good  !  Well  done,  again  !  Whish  !  Hurroo  !  Here's 
for  Ballyboulteen,  an*  the  sky  over  it !  ' 

"  Bad  luck  to  sich  a  set  ever  was  seen  together  in  this 
world,  or  will  again,  I  suppose.  The  worst,  however, 
wasn't  come  yet,  for  jist  as  they  were  in  the  very  heat' 
an'  fury  of  the  dance,  what  do  you  think  comes  hoppin' 
in  among  them  but  another  pudden,  as  nimble  an' 
merry  as  the  first !  That  was  enough  ;  they  had  all 
heard  of  it — the  ministhers  among  the  rest — an'  most 
of  them  had  seen  the  other  pudden,  an'  knew  that  there 
must  be  a  fairy  in  it,  sure  enough.  Well,  as  I  said, 
in  it  comes,  to  the  thick  o'  them  ;  but  the  very  appearance 
of  it  was  enough.  Off  the  three  clergymen  danced,  and 
off  the  whole  weddiners  danced,  afther  them,  everyone 
makin'  the  best  of  their  way  home,  but  not  a  sowl  of 
them  able  to  break  out  of  the  step,  if  they  were  to  be 
hanged  for  it.  Troth,  it  wouldn't  lave  a  laff  in  you  to 
see  the  parson  dancin'  down  the  road  on  his  way  home, 
and  the  ministher  and  Methodist  praycher  cuttin'  the 
buckle  as  they  went  along  in  the  opposite  direction. 
To  make  short  work  of  it,  they  all  danced  home  at  last 
wid  scarce  a  puff  of  wind  in  them  ;  and  the  bride  an' 
bridegroom  danced  away  to  bed." 


72  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

Frank  Webber's  Wager. 

From  "  Charles  O'Malley" 
BY  CHARLES  LEVER  (1806-1872). 

I  WAS  sitting  at  breakfast  with  Webber,  when  Power 
came  in  hastily. 

"  Ha,  the  very  man  !  "  said  he.  "  I  say,  O'Malley, 
here's  an  invitation  for  you  from  Sir  George  to  dine 
on  Friday.  He  desired  me  to  say  a  thousand  civil  things 
about  his  not  having  made  you  out,  regrets  that  he  was 
not  at  home  when  you  called  yesterday,  and  all  that." 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Webber,  "  wasn't  Sir  George 
Dashwood  down  in  the  West  lately  ?  Do  you  know 
what  took  him  there  ?  " 

"Oh,"  said  Power,  "  I  can  enlighten  you.  He  got 
his  wife  west  of  the  Shannon — a  vulgar  woman.  She 
is  now  dead,  and  the  only  vestige  of  his  unfortunate 
matrimonial  connexion  is  a  correspondence  kept  up 
with  him  by  a  maiden  sister  of  his  late  wife's.  She 
insists  upon  claiming  the  ties  of  kindred  upon  about 
twenty  family  eras  during  the  year,  when  she  regularly 
writes  a  most  loving  and  ill-spelled  epistle,  containing 
the  latest  information  from  Mayo,  with  all  particulars 
of  the  Macan  family,  of  which  she  is  a  worthy  member. 
To  her  constant  hints  of  the  acceptable  nature  of  certain 
small  remittances  the  poor  General  is  never  inattentive  ; 
but  to  the  pleasing  prospects  of  a  visit  in  the  flesh  from 
Miss  Judy  Macan,  the  good  man  is  dead." 

"  Then,  he  has  never  yet  seen  her  ? ' 

"  Never,  and  he  hopes  to  leave  Ireland  without  that 
blessing  ?  " 


FRANK  WEBBER'S  WAGER.  73 

"  I  say,  Power,  and  has  your  worthy  General  sent  me 
a  card  for  his  ball  ?  " 

"  Not  through  me,  Master  Frank.  Sir  George  must 
really  be  excused  in  this  matter.  He  has  a  most  attrac- 
tive, lovely  daughter,  just  at  that  budding,  unsuspecting 
age  when  the  heart  is  most  susceptible  of  impressions  ; 
and  where,  let  me  ask,  could  she  run  such  a  risk  as  in  the 
chance  of  a  casual  meeting  with  the  redoubted  lady- 
killer,  Master  Frank  Webber  ?  " 

"  A  very  strong  case,  certainly,"  said  Frank  ;  "  but 
still,  had  he  confided  his  critical  position  to  my  honour 
and  secrecy,  he  might  have  depended  on  me  ;  now, 
having  taken  the  other  line,  he  must  abide  the  conse- 
quences. I'll  make  fierce  love  to  Lucy." 

"  But  how,  may  I  ask,  and  when  ?  " 

"  I'll  begin  at  the  ball,  man." 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  said  you  were  not  going  ?  " 

"  There  you  mistake  seriously.  I  merely  said  that  I 
had  not  been  invited." 

"  Then,  of  course,"  said  I,  "  Webber,  you  can't 
think  of  going,  in  any  case,  on  my  account." 

"  My  very  dear  friend,  I  go  entirely  upon  my  own. 
I  not  only  shall  go,  but  I  intend  to  have  most  particular 
notice  and  attention  paid  me.  I  shall  be  prime  favourite 
with  Sir  George — kiss  Lucy — 

"  Come,  come  !   this  is  too  strong." 

"  What  do  you  bet  I  don't  ?  There,  now,  I'll  give 
you  a  pony  a-piece,  I  do.  Do  you  say  done  ?  " 

"  That  you  kiss  Miss  Dash  wood,  and  are  not  kicked 
downstairs  for  your  pains  ;  are  those  the  terms  of  your 
wager  ?  "  inquired  Power. 

"  With  all  my  heart.  That  I  kiss  Miss  Dashwood, 
and  am  not  kicked  downstairs  for  my  pains." 


74  FRANK  WEBBER'S  WAGER. 

"  Then  I  say,  done  !  " 

"  And  with  you,  too,  O'Malley  ?  " 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  I,  coldly  ;  "  I'm  not  disposed 
to  make  such  a  return  for  Sir  George  Dashwood's 
hospitality  as  to  make  an  insult  to  his  family  the  subject 
of  a  bet " 

"  Why,  man,  what  are  you  dreaming  of  ?  Miss 
Dashwood  will  not  refuse  my  chaste  salute.  Come, 
Power,  I  will  give  you  the  other  pony." 

"  Agreed,"  said  he.  "  At  the  same  time,  understand 
me  distinctly — that  I  hold  myself  perfectly  eligible 
to  winning  the  wager  by  my  own  interference  ;  for,  if 
you  do  kiss  her,  I'll  perform  the  remainder  of  the 
compact." 

"  So  I  understand  the  agreement,"  said  Webber,  and 
off  he  went. 

I  have  often  dressed  for  a  storming  party  with  less 
of  trepidation  than  I  felt  on  the  evening  of  Sir  George 
Dashwood's  ball.  It  was  long  since  I  had  seen  Miss 
Dashwood  ;  therefore,  as  to  what  precise  position  I 
might  occupy  in  her  favour  was  a  matter  of  great  doubt  in 
my  mind,  and  great  import  to  my  happiness. 

Our  quadrille  over,  I  was  about  to  conduct  her  to  a 
seat,  when  Sir  George  came  hurriedly  up,  his  face 
greatly  flushed,  and  betraying  every  semblance  of 
high  excitement. 

"  Read  this,"  said  he,  presenting  a  very  dirty-looking 
note. 

Miss  Dashwood  unfolded  the  billet,  and  after  a 
moment's  silence,  burst  out  a-laughing,  while  she  said, 
"  Why,  really,  papa,  I  do  not  see  why  this  should  put 
you  out  much,  after  all.  Aunt  may  be  somewhat  of  a 
character,  as  her  note  evinces  ;  but  after  a  few  days ', 


FRANK  WEBBER'S  WAGER.  75 

"  Nonsense,  child  ;  there's  nothing  in  this  world  I 
have  such  a  dread  of  as  this — and  to  come  at  such  a  time  ! 
O'Malley,  my  boy,  read  this  note,  and  you  will  not  feel 
surprised  if  I  appear  in  the  humour  you  see  me." 

1  read  as  follows  : — 

"  Dear  brother, — When  this  reaches  your  hand  I'll 
not  be  far  off.  I'm  on  my  way  up  to  town,  to  be  under 
Dr.  Dease  for  the  ould  complaint.  Expect  me  to  tea  ; 
and,  with  love  to  Lucy,  believe  me,  yours  in  haste, 

"  Judith  Macan. 

"  Let  the  sheets  be  well  aired  in  my  room  ;  and  if 
you  have  a  spare  bed,  perhaps  you  could  prevail  upon 
Father  Magrath  to  stop,  too." 

I  scarcely  could  contain  my  laughter  till  I  got  to  the 
end  of  this  very  free-and-easy  epistle,  when  at  last  I 
burst  forth  in  a  hearty  fit,  in  which  I  was  joined  by  Miss 
Dash  wood. 

"  I  say,  Lucy,"  said  Sir  George,  "  there's  only  one 
thing  to  be  done.  If  this  horrid  woman  does  arrive, 
let  her  be  shown  to  her  room,  and  for  the  few  days  of 
her  stay  in  town,  we'll  neither  see  nor  be  seen  by  any- 
one." 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply  he  was  turning  away, 
when  the  servant  announced,  in  his  loudest  voice, 
"  Miss  Macan." 

No  sooner  had  the  servant  pronounced  the  magical 
name  than  all  the  company  present  seemed  to  stand 
still.  About  two  steps  in  advance  of  the  servant  was 
a  tall,  elderly  lady,  dressed  in  an  antique  brocade  silk, 
with  enormous  flowers  gaudily  embroidered  upon  it. 
Her  hair  was  powdered  and  turned  back,  in  the  fashion 
of  fifty  years  before.  Her  short,  skinny  arms  were  bare, 


76  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

while  on  her  hands  she  wore  black  silk  mittens  ;  a  pair 
of  green  spectacles  scarcely  dimmed  the  lustre  of  a  most 
piercing  pair  of  eyes,  to  whose  effect  a  very  palpable 
touch  of  rouge  on  the  cheeks  certainly  added  brilliancy. 
There  she  stood,  holding  before  her  a  fan  about  the  size 
of  a  modern  tea-tray,  while  at  each  repetition  of  her  name 
by  the  servant  she  curtseyed  deeply. 

Sir  George,  armed  with  the  courage  of  despair,  forced 
his  way  through  the  crowd,  and  taking  her  hand  affec- 
tionately, bid  her  welcome  to  Dublin.  The  fa.ir  Judy, 
at  this,  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  saluted  him 
with  a  hearty  smack,  that  was  heard  all  over  the 
room. 

"  Where's  Lucy,  brother  ?  Let  me  see  my  little 
darling,"  said  the  lady,  in  a  decided  accent.  "  There 
she  is,  I'm  sure  ;  kiss  me,  my  honey." 

This  office  Miss  Dashwood  performed  with  an  effort 
at  courtesy  really  admirable  ;  while,  taking  her  aunt's 
arm,  she  led  her  to  a  sofa. 

Power  made  his  way  towards  Miss  Dashwood,  and 
succeeded  in  obtaining  a  formal  introduction  to  Miss 
Macan. 

"  I  hope  you  will  do  me  the  favour  to  dance  next  set 
with  me,  Miss  Macan  ?  " 

"  Really,  Captain,  it's  very  polite  of  you,  but  you 
must  excuse  me.  I  was  never  anything  great  in  quad- 
rilles :  but  if  a  reel  or  a  jig " 

"  Oh,  dear  aunt,  don't  think  of  it,  I  beg  of  you  !  " 

"  Or  even  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,"  resumed  Miss 
Macan. 

"  1  assure  you,  quite  equally  impossible." 

"  Then  I'm  certain  you  waltz,"  said  Power. 


FRANK  WEBBER  S  WAGER.  77 

"  What  do  you  take  me  for,  young  man  ?  I  hope 
I  know  better.  I  wish  Father  Magrath  heard  you  ask 
me  that  question  ;  and  for  all  your  laced  jacket — 

"  Dearest  aunt,  Captain  Power  didn't  mean  to  offend 
you  ;  I'm  certain  he " 

"  Well,  why  did  he  dare  to — (sob,  sob) — did  he 
see  anything  light  about  me,  that  he — (sob,  sob, 
sob) — oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear  !  is  it  for  this  I  came  up  from 
my  little  peaceful  place  in  the  West  ? — (sob,  sob,  sob) 
— General,  George,  dear  ;  Lucy,  my  love,  I'm  taken 
bad.  Oh,  dear!  oh,  dear!  is  there  any  whiskey 
negus  ? " 

After  a  time  she  was  comforted. 

At  supper  later  on  in  the  evening,  I  was  deep  in 
thought  when  a  dialogue  quite  near  me  aroused  me 
from  my  reverie. 

"  Don't,  now  !  don't,  I  tell  ye  ;  it's  little  ye  know 
Galway,  or  ye  wouldn't  think  to  make  up  to  me, 
squeezing  my  foot." 

"You're  an  angel,  a  regular  angel.  I  never  saw  a 
woman  suit  my  fancy  before." 

"  Oh,  behave  now.     Father  Magrath  says " 

"  Who's  he  ?  " 

"  The  priest ;  no  less." 

"  Oh  !    bother  him." 

"  Bother  Father  Magrath,  young  man  ?  " 

"  Well,  then,  Judy,  don't  be  angry  ;  I  only  means 
that  a  dragoon  knows  rather  more  of  these  matters  than 
a  priest." 

"  Well,  then,  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  But,  anyhow, 
I'd  have  you  to  remember  it  ain't  a  Widow  Malone 
you  have  beside  you." 


78  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  Never  heard  of  the  lady,"  said  Power. 

"  Sure,  it's  a  song — poor  creature — it's  a  song  they 
made  about  her  in  the  North  Cork  when  they  were 
quartered  down  in  our  county." 

"  I  wish  you'd  sing  it." 

"  What  will  you  give  me,  then,  if  I  do  ?  " 

"  Anything — everything — my  heart — my  life." 

"  I  wouldn't  give  a  trauneen  for  all  of  them .  Give 
me  that  old  green  ring  on  your  finger,  then." 

"  It's  yours,"  said  Power,  placing  it  gracefully  upon 
Miss  Macan's  finger  ;  "  and  now  for  your  promise." 

"  Well,  mind  you  get  up  a  good  chorus,  for  the  song 
has  one,  and  here  it  is." 

"  Miss  Macan's  song  !  "  said  Power,  tapping  the  table 
with  his  knife. 

"  Miss  Macan's  song  !  "  was  re-echoed  on  all  sides  ; 
and  before  the  luckless  General  could  interfere,  she 
had  begun  : — 

"  Did  ye  hear  of  the  Widow  Malone, 

Ohone  ! 
Who  lived  in  the  town  of  Athlone, 

Alone  ? 

Oh  !  she  melted  the  hearts 
Of  the  swains  in  them  parts, 
So  lovely  the  widow  Malone, 

Ohone  ! 
So  lovely  the  Widow  Malone. 

"  Of  lovers  she  had  a  full  score, 

Or  more  ; 
And  fortunes  they  all  had  galore, 

In  store  ; 


FRANK  WEBBER'S  WAGER.  79 

From  the  Minister  down 

To  the  Clerk  of  the  Crown, 

All  were  courting  the  Widow  Malone, 

Ohone  I 
All  were  courting  the  Widow  Malone. 

"  But  so  modest  was  Mrs.  Malone, 

'Twas  known 
No  one  ever  could  see  her  alone, 

Ohone ! 

Let  them  ogle  and  sigh, 
They  could  ne'er  catch  her  eye, 
So  bashful  the  Widow  Malone, 

Ohone ! 
So  bashful  the  Widow  Malone. 

"  Till  one  Mr.  O'Brien  from  Clare,— 

How  quare, 
It's  little  for  blushing  they  care, 

Down  there, 

Put  his  arm  round  her  waist, 
Gave  ten  kisses,  at  laste, — 
'  Oh,'  says  he,  '  you're  my  Molly  Malone,' 

My  own  ; 

'  Oh,'  says  he,  '  you're  my  Molly  Malone.' 
"  And  the  widow  they  all  thought  so  shy, 

My  eye  ! 
Ne'er  thought  of  a  simper  or  sigh  ; 

For  why  ? 

But '  Lucius,'  says  she, 
'  Since  you've  now  made  so  free, 
You  may  marry  your  Mary  Malone, 

Ohone  ! 
You  may  marry  your  Mary  Malone.' 


80  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  There's  a  moral  contained  in  my  song, 

Not  wrong  ; 
And,  one  comfort,  it's  not  very  long, 

But  strong  ; 
If  for  widows  you  die, 
Larn  to  kiss,  not  to  sigh, 
For  they're  all  like  sweet  Mistress  Malone, 

Ohone  ! 

Oh  !    they're  very  like  Mistress  Malone." 
Never  did  song  create  such  a  sensation  as  Miss  Macan's. 
"  I  insist  upon  a  copy  of  '  The  Widow,'  Miss  Macan," 
said  Power. 

"  To  be  sure  ;  give  me  a  call  to-morrow — let  me  see — 
about  two.  Father  Magrath  won't  be  at  home,"  said 
she,  with  a  coquettish  look. 

"  Where  pray,  may  I  pay  my  respects  ?  " 
Power  produced  a  card  and  pencil,  while  Miss  Macan 
wrote  a  few  lines,  saying,  as  she  handed  it — 

"  There,  now,  don't  read  it  here  before  all  the  people  ; 
they'll  think  it  mighty  indelicate  in  me  to  make  an 
appointment." 

Power  pocketed  the  card,  and  the  next  minute  Miss 
Macan's  carriage  was  announced. 

When  she  had  taken  her  departure,  "  Doubt  it  who 
will,"  said  Power,  "  she  has  invited  me  to  call  on  her 
to-morrow — written  her  address  on  my  card — told  me 
the  hour  she  is  certain  of  being  alone.  See  here  !  " 
At  these  words  he  pulled  forth  the  card,  and  handed  it 
to  a  friend. 

Scarcely  were  the  eyes  of  the  latter  thrown  upon  the 
writing,  when  he  said,  "  So,  this  isn't  it,  Power  !  " 

"  To  be  sure  it  is,  man.  Read  it  out.  Proclaim 
aloud  my  victory." 


FRANK  WEBBER'S  WAGER.  81 

Thus  urged,  his  friend  read  : — 

"  Dear  P., — Please  pay  to  my  credit — and  soon, 
mark  ye — the  two  ponies  lost  this  evening.  I  have  done 
myself  the  pleasure  of  enjoying  your  ball,  kissed  the  lady, 
quizzed  the  papa  and  walked  into  the  cunning  Fred 
Power. — Yours, 

"  FRANK  WEBBER. 

"  '  The  Widow  Malone,  Ohone  !  '  is  at  your  service." 


82  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

Sam  Wham  and  the  Sawmont 

BY  SIR  SAMUEL  FERGUSON  (1810-1886). 

"  KNIEVING  TROUTS  "  (they  call  it  tickling  in  England) 
is  good  sport.  You  go  to  a  stony  shallow  at  night, 
a  companion  bearing  a  torch  ;  then,  stripping  to  the 
thighs  and  shoulders,  wade  in,  grope  with  your  hands 
under  the  stones,  sods,  and  other  harbourage,  till  you 
find  your  game,  then  grip  him  in  your  "  knieve  "  and 
toss  him  ashore. 

I  remember,  when  a  boy,  carrying  the  splits  for  a 
servant  of  the  family,  called  Sam  Wham.  Now,  Sam 
was  an  able  young  fellow,  well-boned  and  willing,  a 
hard  headed  cudgel  player,  and  a  marvellous  tough 
wrestler,  for  he  had  a  backbone  like  a  sea  serpent — this 
gained  him  the  name  of  the  Twister  and  Twiner.  He 
had  got  into  the  river,  and  with  his  back  to  me  was 
stooping  over  a  broad  stone,  when  something  bolted 
from  under  the  bank  on  which  I  stood,  right  through 
his  legs.  Sam  fell  with  a  great  splash  on  his  face,  but 
in  falling  jammed  whatever  it  was  against  the  stone. 
"  Let  go,  Twister  !  "  shouted  I  ;  "  'Tis  an  otter,  he  will 
nip  a  finger  off  you."  "  Whist !  "  sputtered  he,  as  he 
slid  his  hand  under  the  water  "  May  I  never  read 
a  text  again  if  he  isna  a  sawmont  wi'  a  shoulther  like 
a  hog  !  "  "  Grip  him  by  the  gills,  Twister,"  cried  I. 
"  Saul  will  I  !  "  cried  the  Twiner  ;  but  just  then  there 
was  a  heave,  a  roll,  a  splash,  a  slap  like  a  pistol-shot  : 
down  went  Sam,  and  up  went  the  salmon,  spun  like 
a  shilling  at  a  pitch-and-toss,  six  feet  into  the  air  I 


SAM  WHAM    AND  THE  SAWMONT.  83 

leaped  in  just  as  he  came  to  the  water,  but  my  foot 
caught  between  two  stones,  and  the  more  I  pulled 
the  firmer  it  stuck.  The  fish  fell  into  the  spot  shallower 
than  that  from  which  he  had  leaped.  Sam  saw  the 
chance,  and  tackled  to  again  ;  while  I,  sitting  down  in 
the  stream  as  best  I  might,  held  up  my  torch,  and  cried, 
"  Fair  play  !  "  as,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  through,  out, 
and  about,  up  and  down,  roll  and  tumble,  to  it  they  went, 
Sam  and  the  salmon.  The  Twister  was  never  so  twined 
before  Yet,  through  cross-buttocks  and  capsizes  in- 
numerable, he  still  held  on  ;  now  haled  through  a  pool  ; 
now  haling  up  a  bank ;  now  heels  over  head ;  now 
head  over  heels  ;  now,  head  over  heels  together,  doubled 
up  in  a  corner  ;  but  at  last  stretched  fairly  on  his  back, 
and  foaming  for  rage  and  disappointment ;  while  the 
victorious  salmon,  slapping  the  stones  with  its  tail, 
and  whirling  the  spray  from  its  shoulders  at  every  roll, 
came  boring  and  snoring  up  the  'ord  I  tugged  and 
strained  to  no  purpose  ;  he  flashed  by  me  with  a  snort, 
and  slid  into  deep  water.  Sam  now  staggered  fonvard 
with  battered  bones  and  pilled  elbows,  blowing  like 
a  grampus,  and  cursing  like  nothing  but  himself.  He 
extricated  me,  and  we  limped  home.  Neither  rose  for 
a  week  ;  for  I  had  a  dislocated  ankle,  and  the  Twister 
was  troubled  with  a  broken  rib.  Poor  Sam  !  He  had 
his  brains  discovered  at  last  by  a  poker  in  a  row,  and 
was  worm's  meat  within  three  months  ;  yet,  ere  he  died, 
he  had  the  satisfaction  of  feasting  on  his  old  antagonist, 
who  was  man's  meat  next  morning.  They  caught  him 
in  a  net.  Sam  knew  him  by  the  twist  in  his  tail. 


84  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

Darby   Doyle's  Voyage  to 
Quebec. 

From  "  The  Dublin  Penny  Journal ',"  1832. 
BY  THOMAS  ETTINGSALL  (17 — 1850). 

I  tuck  the  road  one  fine  morning  in  May,  from 
Inchegelagh,  an'  got  up  to  the  Cove  safe  an'  sound. 
There  I  saw  many  ships  with  big  broad  boords  fastened 
to  ropes,  every  one  ov  them  saying  "  The  first  vessel 
for  Quebec."  Siz  I  to  myself,  those  are  about  to  run 
for  a  wager  ;  this  one  siz  she'll  be  first,  and  that  one 
siz  she'll  be  first.  I  pitched  on  one  that  was  finely 
painted.  When  I  wint  on  boord  to  ax  the  fare,  who 
shou'd  come  up  out  ov  a  hole  but  Ned  Flinn,  an  ould 
townsman  ov  my  own. 

"  Och,  is  it  yoorself  that's  there,  Ned  ?  "  siz  I  ;  "are 
ye  goin'  to  Amerrykey  ?  " 

"  Why,  an'  to  be  shure,"  sez  he  ;  "  I'm  mate  ov 
the  ship." 

"  Meat !  that's  yer  sort,  Ned,"  siz  I  ;  "  then  we'll 
only  want  bread.  Hadn't  1  betther  go  and  pay  my 
way  ?  " 

"  You're  time  enough,"  siz  Ned  ;  "  I'll  tell  you 
when  we're  ready  for  sea — leave  the  rest  to  me,  Darby." 

"  Och,  tip  us  your  fist,"  siz  I  ;  "  you  were  always 
the  broath  of  a  boy  ;  for  the  sake  ov  ould  times,  Ned, 
we  must  have  a  dhrop  ov  drink,  and  a  bite  to  ate." 

Many's  the  squeeze  Ned  gave  my  fist,  telling  me  to 
leave  it  all  to  him,  and  how  comfortable  he'd  make 
me  on  the  voyage.  Day  afther  day  we  spint  together, 
waitin'  for  the  wind,  till  I  found  my  pockets  begin  to 


DARBY   DOYLE'S    VOYAGE  TO   QUEBEC.  85 

grow  very  light.  At  last,  siz  he  to  me,  one  day  afther 
dinner  : — 

"  Darby,  the  ship  will  be  ready  for  sea  on  the  morrow 
— you'd  betther  go  on  boord  an'  pay  your  way." 

"  Is  it  jokin'  you  are,  Ned  ?  "  siz  I  ;  "  shure  you  tould 
me  to  leave  it  all  to  you." 

"  Ah  !  Darby,"  siz  he,  "  you're  for  takin'  a  rise  out 
o*  me.  But  I'll  stick  to  my  promise  ;  only,  Darby, 
you  must  pay  your  way." 

"  O,  Ned,"  says  I,  "  is  this  the  way  you're  goin'  to 
threat  me  after  all  ?  I'm  a  rooin'd  man  ;  all  I  cou'd 
scrape  together  I  spint  on  you.  If  you  don't  do  some- 
thing for  me,  I'm  lost.  Is  there  no  place  where  you 
cou'd  hide  me  from  the  captin  ?  " 

"  Not  a  place,"  siz  Ned. 

"  An'  where,  Ned,  is  the  place  I  saw  you  comin* 
up  out  ov  ?  " 

"  O,  Darby,  that  was  the  hould  where  the  cargo's 
stow'd." 

"  An'  is  there  no  other  place  ?  "  siz  I. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  siz  he,  "  where  we  keep  the  wather  casks." 

"  An'  Ned,"  siz  I,  "  does  anyone  live  down  there  ?  " 

"  Not  a  mother's  soul,"  siz  he. 

"  An'  Ned,"  siz  I,  "  can't  you  cram  me  down  there, 
and  give  me  a  lock  ov  straw  an'  a  bit  ?  " 

"  Why,  Darby,"  siz  he  (an'  he  look'd  mighty  pittyfull), 
"  I  must  thry.  But  mind,  Darby,  you'll  have  to  hide 
all  day  in  an  empty  barrel,  and  when  it  comes  to  my 
watch,  I'll  bring  you  down  some  prog  ;  but  if  you're 
diskiver'd,  it's  all  over  with  me,  an'  you'll  be  put  on  a 
dissilute  island  to  starve." 

"  O  Ned,"  siz  I,  "  leave  it  all  to  me." 


86  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

When  night  cum  on  I  got  down  into  the  dark  cellar, 
among  the  barrels  ;  and  poor  Ned  every  night  brought 
me  down  hard  black  cakes  an*  salt  meat.  There  I  lay 
snug  for  a  whole  month.  At  last,  one  night,  siz  he  to 
me  : — 

"  Now,  Darby,  what's  to  be  done  ?  we're  within 
three  days'  sail  ov  Quebec  ;  the  ship  will  be  overhauled, 
and  all  the  passengers'  names  call'd  over." 

"  An'  is  that  all  that  frets  you,  my  jewel,"  siz  I  ; 
"just  get  me  an  empty  meal-bag,  a  bottle,  an'  a  bare 
ham  bone,  and  that's  all  I'll  ax." 

So  Ned  got  them  for  me,  anyhow. 

"  Well,  Ned,"  siz  I,  "  you  know  I'm  a  great 
shwimmer  ;  your  watch  will  be  early  in  the  morning  ; 
I'll  just  slip  down  into  the  sea  ;  do  you  cry  out '  There's 
a  man  in  the  wather,'  as  loud  as  you  can,  and  leave  all 
the  rest  to  me." 

Well,  to  be  sure,  down  into  the  sea  I  dropt  without 
as  much  as  a  splash.  Ned  roared  out  with  the  hoarse- 
ness of  a  brayin'  ass — 

"  A  man  in  the  sea,  a  man  in  the  sea  !  " 

Every  man,  woman,  and  child  came  running  up  out 
of  the  holes,  and  the  captain  among  the  rest,  who  put 
a  long  red  barrel,  like  a  gun,  to  his  eye — I  thought  he 
was  for  shootm'  me  !  Down  I  dived.  When  I  got  my 
head  over  the  wather  agen,  what  shou'd  I  see  but  a 
boat  rowin'  to  me.  When  it  came  up  close,  I  roared 
out — 

"  Did  ye  hear  me  at  last  ?  " 

The  boat  now  run  'pon  the  top  ov  me  ;  I  was  gript 
by  the  scruff  ov  the  neck,  and  dragg'd  into  it. 

"  What  hard  look  I  had  to  follow  yees,  at  all  at  all — 
which  ov  ye  is  the  masther  ?  "  says  I. 


DARBY  DOYLE'S  VOYAGE  TO  QUEBEC.  87 

"  There  he  is,"  siz  they,  pointin'  to  a  little  yellow  man 
in  a  corner  of  the  boat. 

"  You  yallow-lookin'  monkey,  but  it's  a'most  time  for 
you  to  think  ov  lettin'  me  into  your  ship — I'm  here 
plowin'  and  plungin'  this  month  afther  you  ;  shure 
I  didn't  care  a  thrawneen  was  it  not  that  you  have  my 
best  Sunday  clothes  in  your  ship,  and  my  name  in  your 
books." 

"  An'  pray,  what  is  your  name,  my  lad  ?  "  siz  the 
captain. 

"  What's  my  name  !  What  i'd  you  give  to  know  ?  " 
siz  I,  "  ye  unmannerly  spalpeen,  it  might  be  what's 
your  name,  Darby  Doyle,  out  ov  your  mouth — ay, 
Darby  Doyle,  that  was  never  afraid  or  ashamed  to  own 
it  at  home  or  abroad  !  " 

"  An',  Mr.  Darby  Doyle,"  siz  he,  "  do  you  mean  to 
persuade  us  that  you  swam  from  Cork  to  this  afther 
us  ?" 

"  This  is  more  ov  your  ignorance,"  siz  I — "  ay,  an' 
if  you  sted  three  days  longer  and  not  take  me  up,  I'd 
be  in  Quebec  before  ye,  only  my  purvisions  were  out, 
and  the  few  rags  of  bank  notes  I  had  all  melted  into 
paste  in  my  pocket,  for  I  hadn't  time  to  get  them  changed 
But  stay,  wait  till  I  get  my  foot  on  shore  ;  there's  ne'er 
a  cottoner  in  Cork  iv  you  don't  pay  for  leavin'  me  to  the 
marcy  ov  the  waves." 

At  last  we  came  close  to  the  ship.  Everyone  on  board 
saw  me  at  Cove  but  didn't  see  me  on  the  voyage  ;  to  be 
sure,  everyone's  mouth  was  wide  open,  crying  out, 
"  Darby  Doyle  !  " 

"  It's  now  you  call  me  loud  enough,"  siz  I,  "  ye 
wouldn't  shout  that  way  when  ye  saw  me  rowlin'  like 
a  tub  in  a  mill-race  the  other  day  fornenst  your  faces." 


88  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

When  they  heard  me  say  that,  some  of  them  grew 
pale  as  a  sheet.  Nothin'  was  tawked  ov  for  the  other 
three  days  but  Darby  Doyle's  great  shwim  from  Cove 
to  Quebec. 

At  last  we  got  to  Ammerykey.  I  was  now  in  a  quare 
way  ;  the  captain  wouldn't  let  me  go  till  a  friend  of  his 
would  see  me.  By  this  time,  my  jewel,  not  only  his 
friends  came,  but  swarms  upon  swarms,  starin'  at  poor 
Darby.  At  last  I  called  Ned. 

"  Ned,  avic,"  siz  I,  "  what's  the  meanin'  ov  the  boords 
acrass  the  stick  the  people  walk  on,  and  the  big  white 
boord  up  there  ?  " 

"  Why,  come  over  and  read,"  siz  Ned.  I  saw  in  great 
big  black  letters  : — 

THE  GREATEST  WONDHER  IN  THE  WORLD  ! ! ! 
TO  BE  SEEN  HERE, 

A  Man  that  beats  out  Nicholas  the  Diver  ! 

He  has  swum  from  Cork  to  Amerrykey  !  ! 

Proved  on  oath  by  ten  of  the  crew  and  twenty  passengers. 

Admittance  Half  a  Dollar. 

"  Ned,"  siz  I,  "  does  this  mean  your  humble  sarvint  ?  " 

"  Not  another,"  siz  he. 

So  I  makes  no  more  ado,  than  with  a  hop,  skip,  and 
jump,  gets  over  to  the  captain,  who  was  now  talkin'  to 
a  yallow  fellow  that  was  afther  starin'  me  out  ov 
countenance. 

"  Ye  are  doin'  it  well,"  said  I.  "  How  much  money 
have  ye  gother  for  my  shwimmin*  ?  " 

"  Be  quiet,  Darby,"  siz  the  captain,  and  he  looked 
very  much  frickened.  "  I  have  plenty,  an'  I'll  have 
more  for  ye  iv  ye  do  what  I  want  ye  to  do." 

"  An'  what  is  it,  avic  ?  "  siz  I. 


DARBY  DOYLE'S  VOYAGE  TO  QUEBEC.  89 

"  Why,  Darby,"  siz  he,  "  I'm  afther  houldin  a  wager 
last  night  with  this  gintleman  for  all  the  worth  ov  my 
ship,  that  you'll  shwim  against  any  shwimmer  in  the 
world  ;  an',  Darby,  if  ye  don't  do  that,  I'm  a  gone 
man." 

"  Augh,  give  us  your  fist,"  siz  I  ;  "  did  ye  ever  hear 
ov  Paddies  dishaving  any  man  in  the  European  world 
yet — barrin'  themselves  ?  " 

"  Well,  Darby,"  siz  he,  "  I'll  give  you  a  hundred 
dollars  ;  but,  Darby,  you  must  be  to  your  word,  and 
you  shall  have  another  hundred." 

So  sayin',  he  brought  me  down  to  the  cellar. 

"  Now,  Darby,"  siz  he,  "  here's  the  dollars  for 
ye." 

But  it  was  only  a  bit  of  paper  he  was  handin'  me. 

"  Arrah,  none  ov  yer  tricks  upon  thravellers,"  siz  I  ; 
"  I  had  betther  nor  that,  and  many  more  ov  them, 
melted  in  the  sea  ;  give  me  wha'  won't  wash  out  of  my 
pocket." 

"  Well,  D  by,"  siz  he,  "  you  must  have  the  real 
ihing." 

So  he  reckoned  me  out  a  hundred  dollars  in  goold. 
I  never  saw  the  like  since  the  stockin'  fell  out  ov  the 
chimly  on  my  aunt  and  cut  her  forred. 

"  Now,  Darby,"  siz  he,  "  ye  are  a  rich  man,  and  ye 
are  worthy  of  it  all." 

At  last  the  day  came  that  I  was  to  stand  the  tug. 
I  saw  the  captain  lookin'  very  often  at  me.  At  last — 

"  Darby,"  siz  he,  "  are  you  any  way  cow'd  ?  The 
fellow  you  have  to  shwim  agenst  can  shwim  down 
watherfalls  an'  caiharacts." 

"  Can  he,  avic  ?  "  siz  I ;  "  but  can  he  shwim  up 
agenst  them  ?  " 


90  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

An'  who  shou'd  come  up  while  I  was  tawkin'  to  the 
captain  but  the  chap  I  was  to  shwim  with,  and  heard  all 
I  sed.  He  was  so  tall  that  he  could  eat  bread  an'  butther 
over  my  head — with  a  face  as  yallow  as  a  kite's  foot. 

"  Tip  us  the  mitten,"  siz  I,  "  mabouchal,"  siz  I  ; 
"  Where  are  we  going  to  shwim  to  ?  What  id  ye  think  if 
we  swum  to  Keep  Cleer  or  the  Keep  ov  Good  Hope  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  neither,"  siz  he. 

Off  we  set  through  the  crowds  ov  ladies  an'  gintlemen 
to  the  shwimmin'  place.  And  as  I  was  goin'  I  was 
thript  up  by  a  big  loomp  ov  iron  struck  fast  in  the  ground 
with  a  big  ring  to  it. 

"  What  d'ye  call  that  ?  "  siz  I  to  the  captain,  who 
was  at  my  elbow. 

"  Why,  Darby,"  siz  he,  "  that's  half  an  anchor." 

"  Have  ye  any  use  for  it  ?  "  siz  I. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  siz  he  ;  "  it's  only  to  fasten 
boats  to." 

"  Maybee  you'd  give  it  to  a  body,"  siz  I. 

"  An'  welkim,  Darby,"  siz  he  ;    "  it's  yours." 

"  God  bless  your  honour,  sir,"  siz  I,  "  it's  my  poor 
father  that  will  pray  for  you.  When  I  left  home  the 
creather  hadn't  as  much  as  an  anvil  but  what  was  sthreeled 
away  by  the  agint — bad  end  to  them.  This  will  be 
jist  the  thing  that'll  match  him  ;  he  can  tie  the  horse 
to  the  ring  while  he  forges  on  the  other  part.  Now, 
will  ye  obleege  me  by  gettin'  a  couple  ov  chaps  to  lay 
it  on  my  shoulder  when  I  get  into  the  wather,  and  I 
won't  have  to  be  comin'  back  for  it  afther  I  shake  hands 
with  this  fellow." 

Oh,  the  chap  turned  from  yallow  to  white  when  he 
heard  me  say  this.  An'  siz  he  to  the  gintleman  that 
was  walkin'  by  his  side — 


DARBY  DOYLE'S  VOYAGE  TO  QUEBEC.  91 

"  I  reckon  I'm  not  fit  for  the  shwimmin*  to-day — 
I  don't  feel  myself." 

"  An',  murdher  an'  Irish,  if  you're  yer  brother, 
can't  you  send  him  for  yerself,  an'  I'll  wait  here  till 
he  comes.  An*  when  will  ye  be  able  for  the  shwim, 
avic  ?  "  siz  I,  mighty  complisant. 

"  I  reckon  in  another  week,"  siz  he. 

So  we  shook  hands  and  parted.  The  poor  fellow 
went  home,  took  the  fever,  then  began  to  rave.  '  Shwim 
up  catharacts  ! — shwim  to  the  Keep  ov  Good  Hope  ! — 
shwim  to  St.  Helena  ! — shwim  to  Keep  Clear  ! — shwim 
with  an  anchor  on  his  back  ! — oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  " 

I  now  thought  it  best  to  be  on  the  move  ;  so  I  gother 
up  my  winners  ;  and  here  I  sit  undher  my  own  hickory 
threes,  as  independent  as  army  Yankee. 


92  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

Bob   Burke's  Duel. 

From  "  Tales  from  Blackwood" 
BY  DR.  MAGINN. 

How  BOB  BURKE,  AFTER  CONSULTATION  WITH  WOODEN- 
LEG  WADDY,  FOUGHT  THE  DUEL  WITH  ENSIGN  BRADY 
FOR  THE  SAKE  OF  MlSS  THEODOSIA  MACNAMARA, 
SUPPOSED  HEIRESS  TO  HER  OLD  BACHELOR  UNCLE, 
MICK  MACNAMARA  OF  KAWLEASH. 

11  AT  night  I  had  fallen  asleep  fierce  in  the  determina- 
tion of  exterminating  Brady  ;  but  with  the  morrow, 
cool  reflection  came — made  probably  cooler  by  the 
aspersion  I  had  suffered.  How  could  I  fight  him,  when 
he  had  never  given  me  the  slightest  affront  ?  To  be 
sure,  picking  a  quarrel  is  not  hard,  thank  God,  in  any 
part  of  Ireland  ;  but  unless  I  was  quick  about  it,  he 
might  get  so  deep  into  the  good  graces  of  Dosy,  who 
was  as  flammable  as  tinder,  that  even  my  shooting  him 
might  not  be  of  any  practical  advantage  to  myself. 
Then,  besides,  he  might  shoot  me  ;  and,  in  fact,  I  was 
not  by  any  means  so  determined  in  the  affair  at  seven 
o'clock  in  the  morning  as  I  was  at  twelve  o'clock  at 
night.  I  got  home,  however,  dressed,  shaved,  etc., 
and  turned  out.  '  I  think,'  said  I  to  myself,  '  the  best 
thing  I  can  do,  is  to  go  and  consult  Wooden-Leg  Waddy  ; 
and,  as  he  is  an  early  man,  I  shall  catch  him  now.'  The 
thought  was  no  sooner  formed  than  executed  ;  and  in 
less  than  five  minutes  I  was  walking  with  Wooden-Leg 
Waddy  in  his  garden,  at  the  back  of  his  house,  by  the 
banks  of  the  Blackwater. 


BOB  BURKE'S  DUEL.  93 

"  Waddy  had  been  in  the  Hundred-and- First,  and  had 
seen  much  service  in  that  distinguished  corps.' 

"  Waddy  had  served  a  good  deal,  and  lost  his  leg 
somehow,  for  which  he  had  a  pension  besides  his  half- 
pay,  and  he  lived  in  ease  and  affluence  among  the  Bucks 
of  Mallow.  He  was  a  great  hand  at  settling  and  arranging 
duels,  being  what  we  generally  call  in  Ireland  a  judg- 
matical sort  of  man — a  word  which,  I  think,  might  be 
introduced  with  advantage  into  the  English  vocabulary. 
When  I  called  on  him,  he  was  smoking  his  meerschaum, 
as  he  walked  up  and  down  his  garden  in  an  old  undressed 
coat,  and  a  fur  cap  on  his  head.  I  bade  him  good 
morning  ;  to  which  salutation  he  answered  by  a  nod, 
and  a  more  prolonged  whiff. 

' '  I  want  to  speak  to  you,  Wooden-Leg,'  said  I,  '  on 
a  matter  which  nearly  concerns  me,'  to  which  I  received 
another  nod,  and  another  whiff  in  reply. 

"  '  The  fact  is,'  said  I,  '  that  there  is  an  Ensign  Brady 
of  the  48th  Quartered  here,  with  whom  I  have  some 
reason  to  be  angry,  and  I  am  thinking  of  calling  him 
out.  I  have  come  to  ask  your  advice  whether  I  should 
do  so  or  not.  He  has  deeply  injured  me,  by  interfering 
between  me  and  the  girl  of  my  affection.  What  ought 
I  to  do  in  such  a  case  ? ' 

"  '  Fight  him,  by  all  means,'  said  Wooden-Leg  Waddy. 

'  '  But  the  difficulty  is  this — he  has  offered  me  no 
affront,  direct  or  indirect — we  have  no  quarrel  what- 
ever— and  he  has  not  paid  any  addresses  to  the  lady. 
He  and  I  have  scarcely  been  in  contact  at  all.  I  do  not 
see  how  I  can  manage  it  immediately  with  any  propriety. 
What  then  can  I  do  now  ? ' 

"  '  Do  not  fight  him,  by  any  means,'  said  Wooden- 
Leg  Waddy. 


94  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  Still,  these  are  the  facts  of  the  case.  He,  whether 
intentionally  or  not,  is  coming  between  me  and  my 
mistress,  which  is  doing  me  an  injury  perfectly  equal 
to  the  grossest  insult.  How  should  I  act  ?  ' 

"  '  Fight  him  by  all  means,'  said  Wooden-Leg  Waddy. 

"  '  But  then,  I  fear  if  I  were  to  call  him  out  on  a 
groundless  quarrel,  or  one  which  would  appear  to  be 
such,  that  I  should  lose  the  good  graces  of  the  lady, 
and  be  laughed  at  by  my  friends,  or  set  down  as  a 
dangerous  and  quarrelsome  companion. 

"  '  Do  not  fight  him,  by  any  means,'  said  Wooden- 
Leg  Waddy. 

"  '  Yet,  as  he  is  a  military  man,  he  must  know  enough 
of  the  etiquette  of  these  affairs  to  feel  perfectly  confident 
that  he  has  affronted  me  ;  and  the  opinion  of  the  military 
man,  standing,  as  of  course,  he  does,  in  the  rank  and 
position  of  a  gentleman,  could  not,  I  think,  be  over- 
looked without  disgrace.' 

"  '  Fight  him,  by  all  means,'  said  Wooden-Leg  Waddy. 

"  '  But  then,  talking  of  gentlemen,  I  own  he  is  an 
officer  of  the  48th,  but  his  father  is  a  fish-tackle  seller 
in  John  Street,  Kilkenny,  who  keeps  a  three-halfpenny 
shop,  where  you  may  buy  everything  from  a  cheese 
to  a  cheese-toaster,  from  a  felt  hat  to  a  pair  of  brogues, 
from  a  pound  of  brown  soap  to  a  yard  of  huckaback 
towels.  He  got  his  commission  by  his  father's  retiring 
from  the  Ormonde  Interest,  and  acting  as  whipper-in 
to  the  sham  freeholders  from  Castlecomer  ;  and  I  am, 
as  you  know,  of  the  best  blood  of  the  Burkes — straight 
from  the  De  Burgos  themselves — and  when  I  think  of 
that  I  really  do  not  like  to  meet  this  Mr.  Brady.' 

1  '  Do  not  fight  him,  by  all  means,'  said  Wooden  Leg 
Waddy. 


BOB  BURKE'S  DUEL.  95 

'  Why,'  said  I,  '  Wooden-Leg,  my  friend,  this  is 
like  playing  battledore  and  shuttlecock  ;  what  is  knocked 
forward  with  one  hand  is  knocked  back  with  the  other. 
Come,  tell  me  what  I  ought  to  do.' 

'  Well,'  said  Wooden-Leg,  taking  the  meerschaum 
out  of  his  mouth,  '  in  dubiis  auspice,  etc.  Let  us  decide 
by  tossing  a  halfpenny.  If  it  comes  down  '  head,' 
you  fight — if  '  harp  '  you  do  not.  Nothing  can  be 
fairer.' 

"  I  assented. 

"  '  Which,'  said  he,  '  is  it  to  be — two  out  of  three,  as 
at  Newmarket,  or  the  first  toss  to  decide  ? 

"  '  Sudden  death,'  said  I,  '  and  there  will  soon  be  an 
end  of  it.' 

"  Up  went  the  halfpenny,  and  we  looked  with  anxious 
eyes  for  its  descent,  when,  unluckily,  it  stuck  in  a  goose- 
berry bush. 

"  '  I  don't  like  that,"  said  Wooden-Leg  Waddy,  '  for 
it's  a  token  of  bad  luck.  But  here  goes  again. 

' '  Again  the  copper  soared  to  the  sky.  and  down  it 
came — Head. 

"  4  I  wish  you  joy,  my  friend  '  said  Waddy  ;  you 
are  to  fight.  That  was  my  opinion  all  along  ;  though 
I  did  not  like  to  commit  myself.  I  can  lend  you  a 
pair  of  the  most  beautiful  duelling-pistols  ever  put 
into  a  man's  hand— Wogden's,  I  swear.  The  last  time 
they  were  out,  they  shot  Joe  Brown,  of  Mount  Badger, 
as  dead  as  Harry  the  Eight.' 

'  Will  you  be  my  second  ? '  said  I 

"  '  Why,  no,"  replied  Wooden-leg,  '  I  cannot ;  for 
I  am  bound  over  by  a  rascally  magistrate  to  keep  the 
peace,  because  I  nearly  broke  the  head  of  a  blackguard 
bailiff,  who  came  here  to  serve  a  writ  on  a  friend  of  mine, 


96  HUMOURS   OF  IRISH   LIFE. 

with  one  of  my  spare  legs.  But  I  can  get  you  a  second 
at  once.  My  nephew,  Major  Mug,  has  just  come  to  me 
on  a  few  days'  visit,  and,  as  he  is  quite  idle  it  will  give 
him  some  amusement  to  be  your  second.  Look  up  at 
his  bedroom — you  see  he  is  shaving  himself.' 

"  In  a  short  time  the  Major  made  his  appearance, 
dressed  with  a  most  military  accuracy  of  costume. 
There  was  not  a  speck  of  dust  on  his  well-brushed  blue 
surtout — not  a  vestige  of  hair,  except  the  regulation 
whiskers,  on  his  closely-shaven  countenance.  His  hat 
was  brushed  to  the  most  glossy  perfection — his  boots 
shone  in  the  jetty  glow  of  Day  and  Martin.  There  was 
scarcely  an  ounce  of  flesh  on  his  hard  and  weather- 
beaten  face,  and  as  he  stood  rigidly  upright,  you  would 
have  sworn  that  every  sinew  and  muscle  of  his  body 
was  as  stiff  as  whipcord.  He  saluted  us  in  military 
style,  and  was  soon  put  in  possession  of  the  case. 
Wooden-Leg  Waddy  insinuated  that  there  were  hardly, 
as  yet,  grounds  for  a  duel. 

"  '  I  differ,'  said  Major  Mug, '  decidedly — the  grounds 
are  ample.  I  never  saw  a  clearer  case  in  my  life,  and  I 
have  been  principal  or  second  in  seven-and-twenty. 
If  I  collect  your  story  rightly,  Mr.  Burke,  he  gave  you 
an  abrupt  answer  in  the  field,  which  was  highly  dero- 
gatory to  the  lady  in  question,  and  impertinently  rude 
to  yourself  ?' 

"  '  He  certainly,'  said  I,  '  gave  me  what  we  call  a 
short  answer  ;  but  I  did  not  notice  it  at  the  time,  and  he 
has  since  made  friends  with  the  young  lady.' 

1 '  It  matters  nothing,'  observed  Major  Mug,  *  what 
you  may  think,  or  she  may  think.  The  business  is 
now  in  my  hands,  and  I  must  see  you  through  it  The 
first  thing  to  be  done  is  to  write  him  a  letter.  Send  out 


BOB  BURKE'S  DUEL.  97 

for  paper — let  it  be  gilt-edged,  Waddy, — that  we  may 
do  the  thing  genteelly.  I'll  dictate,  Mr.  Burke,  if  you 
please.' 

"  And  so  he  did.  As  well  as  I  can  recollect,  the  note 
was  as  follows  : — 

"  '  Spa- Walk,  Mallow,  June  3,  18— 
"  *  Eight  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

1 '  Sir, — A  desire  for  harmony  and  peace,  which  has 
at  all  times  actuated  my  conduct,  prevented  me,  yesterday, 
from  asking  you  the  meaning  of  the  short  and  con- 
temptuous message  which  you  commissioned  me  to 
deliver  to  a  certain  young  lady  of  our  acquaintance 
whose  name  1  do  not  choose  to  drag  into  a  correspon- 
dence. But,  now  that  there  is  no  danger  of  its  dis- 
turbing anyone,  I  must  say  that  in  your  desiring  me  to 
tell  that  young  lady  she  might  consider  herself  as  d — — d, 
when  she  asked  you  to  tea  after  inadvertently  riding  over 
you  in  the  hunting  field,  you  were  guilty  of  conduct 
highly  unbecoming  of  an  officer  and  a  gentleman,  and 
subversive  of  the  discipline  of  the  hunt.  I  have  the 
honour  to  be,  sir, 

.)i.**t  Your  most  obedient  humble  servant, 
1 '  ROBERT  BURKE. 

"  '  P.S. — This  note  will  be  delivered  to  you  by  my 
friend,  Major  Mug,  of  the  3rd  West  Indian  ;  and  you 
will,  I  trust,  see  the  propriety  of  referring  him  to  another 
gentleman  without  further  delay.' 

"  '  That,  I  think,  is  neat,'  said  the  Major.     '  Now, 
seal  it  with  wax,  Mr.  Burke,  with  wax — and  let  the  seal 
be  your  arms.     That's  right.     Now  direct  it.' 
'  '  Ensign  Brady  ? ' 

"  *  No— no — the  right  thing  would  be,  '  Mr.  Brady, 

H 


98  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

Ensign,  48th  Foot,'  but  custom  allows  '  Esquire,'  that 
will  do. — '  Thady  Brady,  Esquire,  Ensign,  48th  Foot, 
Barracks,  Mallow.'  He  shall  have  it  in  less  than  a 
quarter  of  an  hour.' 

"  The  Major  was  as  good  as  his  word,  and  in  about 
half-an-hour  he  brought  back  the  result  of  his  mission. 
The  Ensign,  he  told  us,  was  extremely  reluctant  to 
fight,  and  wanted  to  be  off  on  the  ground  that  he  meant 
no  offence,  did  not  even  remember  having  used  the 
expression,  and  offered  to  ask  the  lady  if  she  conceived 
for  a  moment  he  had  any  idea  of  saying  anything  but 
what  was  complimentary  to  her. 

"  '  In  fact,'  said  the  Major,  '  he  at  first  plumply 
refused  to  fight ;  but  I  soon  brought  him  to  reason. 
'  Sir,'  said  I,  '  you  either  consent  to  fight  or  refuse  to 
fight.  In  the  first  case,  the  thing  is  settled  to  hand, 
and  we  are  not  called  upon  to  inquire  if  there  was  an 
affront  or  not — in  the  second  case,  your  refusal  to  comply 
with  a  gentleman's  request  is,  of  itself,  an  offence  for 
which  he  has  a  right  to  call  you  out.  Put  it,  then,  on 
the  grounds,  you  must  fight  him,  it  is  perfectly  indif- 
ferent to  me  what  the  grounds  may  be  ;  and  I  have  only 
to  request  the  name  of  your  friend,  as  I  too  much  respect 
the  coat  you  wear  to  think  that  there  can  be  any  other 
alternative.'  This  brought  the  chap  to  his  senses,  and 
he  referred  me  to  Captain  Codd,  of  his  own  regiment, 
at  which  I  felt  much  pleased,  because  Codd  is  an  intimate 
friend  of  my  own,  he  and  I  having  fought  a  duel  three 
years  ago  in  Falmouth,  in  which  I  lost  the  top  of  this 
little  finger,  and  he  his  left  whisker.  It  was  a  near  touch, 
he  is  as  honourable  a  man  as  ever  paced  a  ground  ;  and 
I  am  sure  that  he  will  no  more  let  his  man  off  the  field 
until  business  is  done  than  I  would  myself.' 


BOB   BURKE  *S   DUEL  99 

"  I  own,"  continued  Burke,  "  I  did  not  half  relish 
this  announcement  of  the  firm  purpose  to  our  seconds  ; 
but  I  was  in  for  it,  and  could  not  get  back.  I  sometimes 
thought  Dosy  a  dear  purchase  at  such  an  expense  ;  but 
it  was  no  use  to  grumble.  Major  Mug  was  sorry  to  say 
that  there  was  a  review  to  take  place  immediately  at  which 
the  Ensign  must  attend,  and  it  was  impossible  for  him 
to  meet  me  until  the  evening  ;  *  but,'  he  added,  *  at  this 
time  of  the  year  it  can  be  of  no  great  consequence. 
There  will  be  plenty  of  light  till  nine,  but  I  have  fixed 
seven.  In  the  meantime  you  may  as  well  divert  your- 
self with  a  little  pistol  practice,  but  do  it  on  the  sly,  as, 
if  they  were  shabby  enough  to  have  a  trial  it  would  not 
tell  well  before  the  jury.' 

"  Promising  to  take  a  quiet  chop  with  me  at  five, 
the  Major  retired,  leaving  me  not  quite  contented  with 
the  state  of  affairs.  I  sat  down  and  wrote  a  letter  to 
my  cousin,  Phil  Burdon,  of  Kanturk,  telling  him  what 
I  was  about  and  giving  directions  what  was  to  be  done 
in  the  case  of  any  fatal  event.  I  communicated  to  him 
the  whole  story— deplored  my  unhappy  fate  in  being 
thus  cut  off  in  the  flower  of  my  youth — left  him  three 
pairs  of  buckskin  breeches — and  repented  my  sins. 
This  letter  I  immediately  packed  off  by  a  special 
messenger,  and  then  began  a  half-a-dozen  others,  of 
various  styles  of  tenderness  and  sentimentality,  to  be 
delivered  after  my  melancholy  decease.  The  day 
went  off  fast  enough,  I  assure  you  ;  and  at  five  the  Major, 
and  Wooden-Leg  Waddy,  arrived  in  high  spirits. 

" '  Here,  my  boy,'  said  Waddy,  handing  me  the 
pistols,  '  here  are  the  flutes  ;  and  pretty  music,  I  can  tell 
you,  they  make.' 

"  '  As  for  dinner,'  said  Major  Mug,  '  I  do  not  much 


100  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

care  ;  but,  Mr.  Burke,  I  hope  it  is  ready,  as  I  am  rather 
hungry.  We  must  dine  lightly,  however,  and  drink 
not  much.  If  we  come  off  with  flying  colours,  we  may 
crack  a  bottle  together  by-and-by  ;  in  case  you  shoot 
Brady,  I  have  everything  arranged  for  our  keeping  out 
of  the  way  until  the  thing  blows  over — if  he  shoots  you, 
I'll  see  you  buried.  Of  course,  you  would  not  recom- 
mend anything  so  ungenteel  as  a  prosecution  ?  No. 
I'll  take  care  it  shall  appear  in  the  papers,  and  announced 
that  Robert  Burke,  Esq.,  met  his  death  with  becoming 
fortitude,  assuring  the  unhappy  survivor  that  he  heartily 
forgave  him,  and  wished  him  health  and  happiness.' 

"  '  I  must  tell  you,'  said  Wooden-Leg  Waddy,  '  it's 
all  over  Mallow  and  the  whole  town  will  be  on  the 
ground  to  see  it.  Miss  Dosy  knows  of  it,  and  she  is 
quite  delighted — she  says  she  will  certainly  marry  the 
survivor.  I  spoke  to  the  magistrate  to  keep  out  of  the 
way,  and  he  promised  that,  though  it  deprived  him  of 
a  great  pleasure  he  would  go  and  dine  five  miles  off — 
and  know  nothing  about  it.  But  here  comes  dinner, 
let  us  be  jolly.' 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  played  on  that  day  as  brilliant 
a  part  with  the  knife  and  fork  as  I  usually  do,  and  did 
not  sympathise  much  in  the  speculations  of  my  guests, 
who  pushed  the  bottle  about  with  great  energy,  recom- 
mending me,  however,  to  refrain.  At  last  the  Major 
looked  at  his  watch,  which  he  had  kept  lying  on  the  table 
before  him  from  the  beginning  of  dinner — started  up — 
clapped  me  on  the  shoulder,  and  declaring  it  only 
wanted  six  minutes  and  thirty-five  seconds  of  the  time, 
hurried  me  off  to  the  scene  of  action — a  field  close 
by  the  castle. 

"  There    certainly   was    a    miscellaneous    assemblage 


BOB  BURKE'S  DUEL.  101 

of  the  inhabitants  of  Mallow,  all  anxious  to  see  the  duel. 
They  had  pitted  u?  like  game-cocks,  and  bets  were 
freely  taken  as  to  the  chances  of  our  killing  one  another, 
and  the  particular  spots.  One  betted  on  my  being  hit 
in  the  jaw,  another  was  so  kind  as  to  lay  the  odds  on  my 
knee.  The  tolerably  general  opinion  appeared  to 
prevail  that  one  or  other  of  us  was  to  be  killed  ;  and 
much  good-humoured  joking  took  place  among  them 
while  they  were  deciding  which.  As  I  was  double 
the  thickness  of  my  antagonist,  I  was  clearly  the  favourite 
for  being  shot,  and  I  heard  one  fellow  near  me  say, 
'  Three  to  two  on  Burke,  that  he's  shot  first — I  bet  in 
tenpennies.' 

"  Brady  and  Codd  soon  appeared,  and  the  prelimi- 
naries were  arranged  with  much  punctilio  between  our 
seconds,  who  mutually  and  loudly  extolled  each  other's 
gentleman-like  mood  of  doing  business.  Brady  could 
scarcely  stand  with  fright,  and  I  confess  that  I  did 
not  feel  quite  as  Hector  of  Troy,  or  the  Seven  Champions 
of  Christendom  are  reported  to  have  done  on  similar 
occasions.  At  last  the  ground  was  measured — the 
pistols  handed  to  the  principals — the  handkerchief 
dropped — whiz  !  went  the  bullet  within  an  inch  of  my 
ear — and  crack  !  went  mine  exactly  on  Ensign  Brady's 
waistcoat  pocket.  By  an  unaccountable  accident,  there 
was  a  five  shilling  piece  in  that  very  pocket,  and  the  ball 
glanced  away,  while  Brady  doubled  himself  down, 
uttering  a  loud  howl  that  might  be  heard  half-a-mile 
off.  The  crowd  was  so  attentive  as  to  give  a  huzza  for 
my  success. 

"  Codd  ran  up  to  his  principal,  who  was  writhing 
as  if  he  had  ten  thousand  colics,  and  soon  ascertained 
that  no  harm  was  done. 


102  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  '  What  do  you  propose,'  said  he  to  my  second — 
'  What  do  you  propose  to  do,  Major  ?  ' 

"  '  As  there  is  neither  blood  drawn  nor  bone  broken,' 
said  the  Major,  '  I  think  that  shot  goes  for  nothing.' 

"  '  I  agree  with  you,'  said  Captain  Codd. 

"  *  If  your  party  will  apologise,'  said  Major  Mug, 
'  I'll  take  my  man  off  the  ground.' 

" '  Certainly,'  said  Captain  Codd,  '  you  are  quite 
right,  Major,  in  asking  the  apology,  but  you  know  that 
it  is  my  duty  to  refuse  it.' 

"  '  You  are  correct,  Captain,'  said  the  Major  ;  '  I  then 
formally  require  that  Ensign  Brady  apologise  to  Mr. 
Burke.' 

"  '  I,  as  formally,  refuse  it,'  said  Captain  Codd. 

"  '  We  must  have  another  shot  then,'  said  the  Major. 

"  '  Another  shot,  by  all  means,'  said  the  Captain. 

"  '  Captain  Codd,'  said  the  Major,  '  you  have  shown 
yourself  in  this,  as  in  every  transaction  of  your  life, 
a  perfect  gentleman.' 

"  '  He  who  would  dare  to  say,'  replied  the  Captain, 
'  that  Major  Mug  is  not  among  the  most  gentlemanlike 
men  in  the  service,  would  speak  what  is  untrue/ 

"  Our  seconds  bowed,  took  a  pinch  of  snuff  together, 
and  proceeded  to  load  the  pistols.  Neither  Brady  nor 
I  were  particularly  pleased  at  these  complimentary 
speeches  of  the  gentlemen,  and,  I  am  sure,  had  we  been 
left  to  ourselves,  would  have  declined  the  second  shot. 
As  it  was,  it  appeared  inevitable. 

"  Just,  however,  as  the  process  of  loading  was  com- 
pleting, there  appeared  on  the  ground  my  cousin  Phil 
Purdon,  rattling  in  on  his  black  mare  as  hard  as  he 
could  lick — 

"  '  I  want  to  speak  to  the  plaintiff  in  this  action — I 


BOB  BURKE'S  DUEL.  103 

mean,  to  one  of  the  parties  in  this  duel.     I  want  to  speak 
to  you,  Bob  Burke.' 

"  '  The  thing  is  impossible,  sir,'  said  Major  Mug. 
1  '  Perfectly  impossible,  sir,'  said  Codd. 

"  '  Possible  or  impossible  is  nothing  to  the  question,' 
shouted  Purdon  ;  '  Bob,  I  must  speak  to  you.' 

1  '  It  is  contrary  to  all  regulation,'  said  the  Major. 

"  '  Quite  contrary,'  said  the  Captain. 

"  Phil,  however,  persisted,  and  approached  me  : 
'  Are  you  fighting  about  Dosy  Mac  ? '  said  he  to  me, 
in  a  whisper. 

1  Yes,'  I  replied. 

'  '  And  she  is  to  marry  the  survivor,  I  understand  ? ' 

"  '  So  I  am  told,'  said  I. 

"  '  Back  out,  Bob,  then  ;  back  out,  at  the  rate  of  a 
hunt.  Old  Mick  MacNamara  is  married.' 

"  '  Married  !  '  I  exclaimed. 

"  '  Poz,'  said  he.  '  I  drew  the  articles  myself.  He 
married  his  housemaid,  a  girl  of  eighteen  ;  and,'  here 
he  whispered. 

"  '  What,'  I  cried, '  six  months  !  ' 

"  '  Six  months,'  said  he, '  an'  no  mistake.' 

"  '  Ensign  Brady,'  said  I,  immediately  coming  for- 
ward, '  there  has  been  a  strange  misconception  in  this 
business.  I  here  declare,  in  presence  of  this  honourable 
company,  that  you  have  acted  throughout  like  a  man  of 
honour,  and  a  gentleman  ;  and  you  leave  the  ground 
without  a  stain  on  your  character.' 

"  Brady  hopped  three  feet  off  the  ground  with  joy 
at  the  unexpected  deliverance.  He  forgot  all  etiquette, 
and  came  forward  to  shake  me  by  the  hand. 

"  '  My  dear  Burke,'  said  he,  '  it  must  have  been  a 
mistake  :  let  us  swear  eternal  friendship.' 


!04  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  '  For  ever,'  said  I.    '  I  resign  you  Miss  Theodosia.' 

"  '  You  are  too  generous,'  he  said,  '  but  I  cannot 
abuse  your  generosity.' 

"  '  It  is  unprecedented  conduct,'  growled  Major  Mug. 
1  I'll  never  be  second  to  a  Pekin  again.' 

"  '  My  principal  leaves  the  ground  with  honour,' 
said  Captain  Codd,  looking  melancholy,  nevertheless. 

"  '  Humph!  '  grunted  Wooden-Leg  Waddy,  lighting 
his  meerschaum. 

"  The  crowd  dispersed  much  displeased,  and  I  fear 
my  reputation  for  valour  did  not  rise  among  them. 
1  went  off  with  Purdon  to  finish  a  jug  at  Carmichael's, 
and  Brady  swaggered  off  to  Miss  Dosy's.  His  renown 
for  valour  won  her  heart.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  I 
sunk  deeply  in  her  opinion.  On  that  very  evening 
Brady  broke  his  love,  and  was  accepted.  Mrs.  Mac. 
opposed,  but  the  red-coat  prevailed. 

"  '  He  may  rise  to  be  a  general,'  said  Dosy,  *  and  be 
a  knight,  and  then  I  will  be  Lady  Brady.' 

'  '  Or,  if  my  father  should  be  made  an  earl,  angelic 
Theodosia,  you  would  be  Lady  Thady  Brady,'  said  the 
Ensign. 

"  '  Beautiful  prospect !  '  cried  Dosy,  '  Lady  Thady 
Brady  !  What  a  harmonious  sound  !  ' 

"  But  why  dally  over  the  detail  of  my  unfortunate 
loves  ?  Dosy  and  the  Ensign  were  married  before  the 
accident  which  had  befallen  her  uncle  was  discovered  ; 
and  if  they  were  not  happy,  why,  then,  you  and  I  may. 
They  have  had  eleven  children,  and,  I  understand,  he 
now  keeps  a  comfortable  eating-house  close  by  Cumber- 
land Basin,  in  Bristol.  Such  was  my  duel  with  Ensign 
Brady  of  the  48th." 


BILLY  MALOWNEY'S  TASTE  OF  LOVE  AND  GLORY     105 

Billy    Malowney's  Taste   of 
Love  and   Glory. 

From  "  The  Purcell  Papers" 
BY  JOSEPH  SHERIDAN  LE  FANU  (1814-1873). 

LET  the  reader  fancy  a  soft  summer  evening,  the 
fresh  dews  falling  on  bush  and  flower.  The  sun  has 
just  gone  down,  and  the  thrilling  vespers  of  thrushes 
and  blackbirds  ring  with  a  wild  joy  through  the  saddened 
air  ;  the  west  is  piled  with  fantastic  clouds,  and  clothed 
in  tints  of  crimson  and  amber,  melting  away  into  a  wan 
green,  and  so  eastward  into  the  deepest  blue,  through 
which  soon  the  stars  will  begin  to  peep. 

Let  him  fancy  himself  seated  upon  the  low  mossy 
wall  of  an  ancient  churchyard,  where  hundreds  of  grey 
stones  rise  above  the  sward,  under  the  fantastic  branches 
of  two  or  three  half- withered  ash-trees,  spreading  their 
arms  in  everlasting  love  and  sorrow  over  the  dead. 

The  narrow  road  upon  which  I  and  my  companion 
await  the  tax-cart  that  is  to  carry  me  and  my  basket, 
with  its  rich  fruitage  of  speckled  trout,  away,  lies  at  his 
feet,  and  far  below  spreads  an  undulating  plain,  rising 
westward  into  soft  hills,  and  traversed  (every  here  and 
there  visibly)  by  a  winding  stream  which,  even  through 
the  mists  of  evening,  catches  and  returns  the  funeral 
glories  of  the  skies. 

As  the  eye  traces  its  wayward  wanderings,  it  loses  them 
for  a  moment  in  the  heaving  verdure  of  white-thorns 
and  ash,  from  among  which  floats  from  some  dozen  rude 
chimneys,  mostly  unseen,  the  transparent  blue  film  of 


106  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

turf  smoke.  There  we  know,  although  we  cannot 
see  it,  the  steep  old  bridge  of  Carrickdrum  spans  the 
river  ;  and  stretching  away  far  to  the  right  the  valley 
of  Lisnamoe  ;  its  steeps  and  hollows,  its  straggling 
hedges,  its  fair-green,  its  tall  scattered  trees,  and  old 
grey  tower,  are  disappearing  fast  among  the  discoloured 
tints  and  blaze  of  evening. 

Those  landmarks,  as  we  sit  listlessly  expecting  the 
arrival  of  our  modest  conveyance,  suggest  to  our  com- 
panion— a  bare-legged  Celtic  brother  of  the  gentle  craft, 
somewhat  at  the  wrong  side  of  forty,  with  a  turf-coloured 
caubeen,  patched  frieze,  a  clear  brown  complexion,  dark- 
grey  eyes  and  a  right  pleasant  dash  of  roguery  in  his 
features — the  tale,  which,  if  the  reader  pleases,  he  is 
welcome  to  hear  along  with  me  just  as  it  falls  from  the 
lips  of  our  humble  comrade. 

His  words  I  can  give,  but  your  own  fancy  must  supply 
the  advantages  of  an  intelligent,  expressive  countenance, 
and  what  is,  perhaps,  harder  still,  the  harmony  of  his 
glorious  bro  ue,  that,  like  the  me  odies  o  our  own 
dear  country,  will  leave  a  burden  of  mirth  or  of  sorrow 
with  nearly  equal  propriety,  tickling  the  diaphragm 
as  easily  as  it  plays  with  the  heart-strings,  and  is  in  itself 
a  national  music  that,  I  trust,  may  never,  never — scouted 
and  despised  though  it  be — never  cease,  like  the  lost  tones 
of  our  harp,  to  be  heard  in  the  fields  of  my  country, 
in  welcome  or  endearment,  in  fun  or  in  sorrow,  stirring 
the  hearts  of  Irishmen  and  Irish  women. 

My  friend  of  the  caubeen  and  naked  shanks,  then, 
commenced,  and  continued  his  relation,  as  nearly 
as  possible,  in  the  following  words  : — 

Av  coorse  ye  often  heerd  talk  of  Billy  Malowney, 
that  lived  by  the  bridge  of  Carrickadrum.  "  Leuma- 


BILLY  MALOWNEY'S  TASTF  OF  LOVE  AND  GLORY.     107 

rinka  "  was  the  name  they  put  on  him,  he  was  sich  a 
beautiful  dancer.  An'  faix,  it's  he  was  the  rale  sportin' 
boy,  every  way — killin'  the  hares,  and  gaffin'  the 
salmons,  an'  fightin'  the  men,  an'  funnin'  the  women, 
and  coortin'  the  girls  ;  an',  be  the  same  token,  there 
was  not  a  colleen  inside  iv  his  jurisdiction  but  was 
breakin'  her  heart  wid  the  fair  love  iv  him. 

Well,  this  was  all  pleasand  enough,  to  be  sure,  while 
it  lasted  ;  but  inhuman  beings  is  born  to  misfortune, 
an'  Bill's  divarshin  was  not  to  last  always.  A  young 
boy  can't  be  continually  coortin'  and  kissin'  the  girls 
(an'  more's  the  pity)  without  exposin'  himself  to  the 
most  eminent  parril ;  an'  so  signs  an'  what  should 
happen  Billy  Malowney  himself,  but  to  fall  in  love  at 
last  wid  little  Molly  Donovan,  in  Coolamoe. 

I  never  could  ondherstand  why  in  the  world  it  was 
Bill  fell  in  love  wid  her,  above  all  the  girls  in  the  country. 
She  was  not  within  four  stone  weight  iv  being  as  fat 
as  Peg  Brallaghan  ;  and  as  for  redness  in  the  face, 
she  could  not  hould  a  candle  to  Judy  Flaherty.  (Poor 
Judy  !  she  was  my  sweetheart,  the  darlin',  an'  coorted 
me  constant,  ever  entil  she  married  a  boy  of  the  Butlers  ; 
an'  it's  twenty  years  now  since  she  was  buried  under 
the  ould  white-thorn  in  Garbally.  But  that's  no 
matther  ! ). 

Well,  at  any  rate,  Molly  Donovan  tuck  his  fancy 
an'  that's  everything  !  She  had  smooth  brown  hair — 
as  smooth  as  silk — an'  a  pair  iv  soft  coaxin'  eyes — an' 
the  whitest  little  teeth  you  ever  seen  ;  an',  bedad,  she 
was  every  taste  as  much  in  love  wid  himself  as  he  was. 

Well,  now,  he  was  raly  stupid  wid  love  :  there  was 
not  a  bit  of  fun  left  in  him  He  was  good  for  nothin' 
an  airth  bud  sittin'  under  bushes,  smokin'  tobacky, 


108  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

and  sighin'  till  you'd  wonder  how  in  the  world  he  got 
wind  for  it  all. 

An,'  bedad,  he  was  an  illigant  scholar,  moreover 
an',  so  signs  by,  it's  many's  the  song  he  made  about  her  ; 
an'  if  you'd  be  walkin'  in  the  evening,  a  mile  away 
from  Carrickadrum,  begorra  you'd  hear  him  singing 
out  like  a  bull,  all  across  the  country,  in  her  praises. 

Well,  ye  may  be  sure,  ould  Tim  Donovan  and  the 
wife  was  not  a  bit  too  well  plased  to  see  Bill  Malowney 
coortin'  their  daughter  Molly  ;  for,  do  ye  mind,  she  was 
the  only  child  they  had,  and  her  fortune  was  thirty-five 
pounds,  two  cows,  and  five  illigant  pigs,  three  iron  pots, 
a  skillet,  an'  a  trifle  iv  poultry  in  hand  ;  and  no  one 
knew  how  much  besides,  whenever  the  Lord  id  be  plased 
to  call  the  ould  people  out  of  the  way  into  glory  ! 

So,  it  was  not  likely  ould  Tim  Donovan  id  be  fallin' 
in  love  wid  poor  Bill  Malowney  as  aisy  as  the  girls  did  ; 
for,  barrin'  his  beauty,  an'  his  gun,  an'  his  dhudheen, 
an'  his  janious,  the  divil  a  taste  of  property  iv  any  sort 
or  description  he  had  in  the  wide  world  ! 

Well,  as  bad  as  that  was,  Billy  would  not  give  in  that 
her  father  and  mother  had  the  smallest  taste  iv  a  right 
to  intherfare,  good  or  bad. 

"  An'  you're  welcome  to  rafuse  me,"  says  he,  "  whin' 
I  ax  your  lave,"  says  he  ;  "  an'  I'll  ax  your  lave,"  says 
he,  "  whenever  I  want  to  coort  yourselves,"  says  he  ; 
"  but  it's  your  daughter  I'm  coortin'  at  the  present," 
says  he,  "  an'  that's  all  I'll  say,"  says  he  ;  "  for  I'd  a 
soon  take  a  doase  of  salts  as  be  discoursin'  ye,"  says 
he. 

So  it  was  a  rale  blazin'  battle  betune  himself  and  the 
ould  people ;  an',  begorra,  there  was  no  soart  iv 
blaguardin1  that  did  not  pass  betune  them  ;  an'  they 


BILLY  MALOWNEY'S  TASTE  OF  LOVE  AND  GLORY.    109 

put  a  solemn  injection  on  Molly  again  seein'  him  or 
meetin'  him  for  the  future. 

But  it  was  all  iv  no  use.  You  might  as  well  be  pur- 
suadin'  the  birds  agin  flying,  or  sthrivin'  to  coax  the 
stars  out  of  the  sky  into  your  hat,  as  be  talking  common 
sinse  to  them  that's  fairly  bothered  and  burstin'  wid 
love.  There's  nothin'  like  it.  The  toothache  and 
colic  together  id  compose  you  betther  for  an  argyment 
than  itself.  It  leaves  you  fit  for  nothin'  bud  nansinse. 

It's  stronger  than  whisky,  for  one  good  drop  iv  it 
will  make  you  drunk  for  one  year,  and  sick,  begorra, 
for  a  dozen. 

It's  stronger  than  the  say,  for  it'll  carry  you  round 
the  world  an!  never  let  .you  sink,  in  sunshine  or  storm  ; 
an,'  begorra,  it's  stronger  than  Death  himself,  for  it  is 
not  afeard  iv  him,  bedad,  but  dares  him  in  every  shape. 

Bud  lovers  has  quarrels  sometimes,  and,  begorra, 
when  they  do,  you'd  a'most  imagine  they  hated  one 
another  like  man  and  wife.  An'  so,  signs  an,  Billy 
Malowney  and  Molly  Donovan  fell  out  one  evening 
at  ould  Tom  Dundon's  wake  ;  an'  whatever  came  betune 
them,  she  made  no  more  about  it  but  just  draws  her 
cloak  round  her,  and  away  wid  herself  and  the  sarvant- 
girl  home  again,  as  if  there  was  not  a  corpse,  or  a  fiddle, 
or  a  taste  of  divarsion  in  it. 

Well,  Billy  Malowney  follied  her  down  the  boreen, 
to  try  could  he  deludher  her  back  again  ;  but,  if  she 
was  bitther  before,  she  gave  it  to  him  in  airnest  when 
she  got  him  alone  to  herself,  and  to  that  degree  that  he 
wished  her  safe  home,  short  and  sulky  enough,  an' 
walked  back  again,  as  mad  as  the  devil  himself,  to  the 
wake,  to  pay  respect  to  poor  Tom  Dundon. 

Well,  my  dear,  it  was  aisy  seen  there  was  something 


1 10  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

wrong  wid  Billy  Malowney,  for  he  paid  no  attintion 
for  the  rest  of  the  even:ng  to  any  soart  of  divarsion  but 
the  whisky  alone  ;  an'  every  glass  he'd  drink  it's  what 
he'd  be  wishing  the  divil  had  the  woman,  an'  the  worst 
iv  bad  luck  to  all  soarts  iv  courting,  until,  at  last,  wid 
the  goodness  iv  the  sperits,  an'  the  badness  iv  his  cemper, 
an'  the  constant  flusthration  iv  cursin',  he  grew  all  as 
one  as  you  might  say  almost,  saving  your  presince, 
bastely  drunk  ! 

Well,  who  should  he  fall  in  wid,  in  that  childish 
condition,  as  he  was  deploying  along  the  road  almost 
as  straight  as  the  letter  S,  an'  cursin'  the  girls,  an'  roarin' 
for  more  whisky,  but  the  recruiting-sargent  iv  the 
Welsh  Confusileers. 

So,  cute  enough,  the  sargent  begins  to  convarse 
him,  an'  it  was  not  long  until  he  had  him  sitting  in 
Murphy's  public-house,  wid  an  elegant  dandy  iv  punch 
before  him,  an'  the  king's  money  safe  an'  snug  in  the 
lowest  wrinkle  of  his  breeches  pocket. 

So  away  wid  him,  and  the  dhrums  and  fifes  playing, 
an'  a  dozen  more  unforthunate  bliggards  just  listed 
along  with  him,  an'  he  shakin'  hands  wid  the  sargent, 
and  swearin'  agin  the  women  every  minute,  until,  be 
the  time  he  kem  to  himself,  begorra,  he  was  a  good  ten 
miles  on  the  road  to  Dublin,  an'  Molly  and  all  behind 
him. 

It  id  be  no  good  tellin'  you  iv  the  letters  he  wrote 
to  her  from  the  barracks  there,  nor  how  she  was  breaking 
her  heart  to  go  and  see  him  just  wanst  before  he'd  go  ; 
but  the  father  and  mother  would  not  allow  iv  it  be  no 
manes. 

An'  so  in  less  tune  than  you'd  be  thinkin'  about  it, 
the  colonel  had  him  polished  off  into  a  rale  elegant 


BILLY  MALOWNEY'S  TASTE  OF  LOVE  AND  GLORY,    in 

soger,  wid  his  gun  exercise,  and  his  bagnet  exercise, 
and  his  small  sword,  and  broad  sword,  and  pistol  and 
dagger,  an'  all  the  rest,  an'  then  away  wid  him  on 
board  a  man-a-war  to  furrin  parts,  to  fight  for  King 
George  agin  Bonypart,  that  was  great  in  them  times. 

Well,  it  was  very  soon  in  everyone's  mouth  how 
Billy  Malowney  was  batin'  all  before  him,  astonishin' 
the  ginerals,  and  frightenin'  the  inimy  to  that  degree, 
there  was  not  a  Frinchman  dare  say  parley  voo  outside 
of  the  rounds  iv  his  camp. 

You  may  be  sure  Molly  was  proud  iv  that  same,  though 
she  never  spoke  a  word  about  it ;  until  at  last  news  kem 
home  that  Billy  Malowney  was  surrounded  an' 
murdered  be  the  Frinch  army,  under  Napoleon  Bony- 
part  himself.  The  news  was  brought  by  Jack  Bryan 
Dhas,  the  pedlar,  that  said  he  met  the  corporal  iv  the 
regiment  on  the  quay  iv  Limerick,  an'  how  he  brought 
him  into  a  public-house  and  thrated  him  to  a  naggin, 
and  got  all  the  news  about  poor  Billy  Malowney  out 
iv  him  while  they  war  dhrinkin'  it ;  an'  a  sorrowful 
story  it  was. 

The  way  it  happened,  accordin'  as  the  corporal  tould 
him,  was  jist  how  the  Dock  iv  Wellington  detarmined 
to  fight  a  rale  tarin'  battle  wid  the  Frinch,  and  Bony- 
part  at  the  same  time  was  aiqually  detarmined  to 
fight  the  divil's  own  scrimmidge  wid  the  British  foorces. 

Well,  as  soon  as  the  business  was  pretty  near  ready 
at  both  sides,  Bonypart  and  the  general  next  undher 
himself  gets  up  behind  a  bush,  to  look  at  their  inimies 
through  spy-glasses,  and  thry  would  they  know  any  iv 
them  at  the  distance. 

"  Bedad  !  "  says  the  gineral,  afther  a  divil  iv  a  long 
spy,  "  I'd  bet  half  a  pint,"  says  he,  "  that's  Billy 
Malowney  himself,"  says  he,  "  down  there,"  says  he. 


112  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  Och  !  "  says  Bonypart,  "  do  you  tell  me  so  ?" 
says  he — "  I'm  fairly  heart-scalded  with  that  same 
Billy  Malowney,"  says  he  ;  "  an'  I  think  if  1  wanst 
got  shut  iv  him,  I'd  bate  the  rest  of  them  aisy,"  says 
he. 

"  I'm  thinking  so  myself,"  says  the  general,  says  he  ; 
*  but  he's  a  tough  bye,"  says  he." 

"  Tough  !  "  says  Bonypart,  "  he's  the  divil,"  says  he. 

"  Begorra,  I'd  be  better  plased,"  says  the  gineral, 
says  he,  "  to  take  himself  than  the  Duke  iv  Willinton," 
says  he,  "  an'  Sir  Edward  Blakeney  into  the  bargain," 
says  he. 

"  The  Duke  of  Wellinton  and  Gineral  Blakeney," 
says  Bonypart,  "  is  great  for  planning,  no  doubt," 
says  he  ;  "  but  Billy  Malowney's  the  boy  for  action," 
rsays  he — "  an'  action's  everything,  just  now,"  says  he. 

So  with  that  Bonypart  pushes  up  his  cocked  hat, 
and  begins  scratching  his  head,  and  thinking  and  con- 
sidherin'  for  the  bare  life,  and  at  last  says  he  to  the 
gineral : 

"  Gineral  Commandher  iv  all  the  Foorces,"  says  he, 
"  I've  hot  it,"  says  he  :  "  ordher  out  the  forlorn  hope," 
says  he,  an'  give  them  as  much  powdher,  both  glazed 
and  blasting,"  says  he,  "  an'  as  much  bullets,  do  ye 
mind,  an'  swan-dhrops  an'  chainshot,"  says  he,  "  an' 
all  soorts  iv  waipons  an'  combustables  as  they  can 
carry  ;  an'  let  them  surround  Bill  Malowney,"  says  he, 
"  an'  if  they  can  get  any  soort  iv  an  advantage,"  says 
he,  "  let  them  knock  him  to  smithereens,"  says  he, 
"  an'  then  take  him  presner,"  says  he  ;  "  an'  tell  all  the 
bandmen  iv  the  Frinch  army,"  says  he,  "  to  play  up 
4  Garryowen,'  to  keep  up  their  sperits,"  says  he,  "  all 
the  time  they're  advancin'.  And  you  may  promise 


BILLY  MALOWNEY'S  TASTE  OF  LOVE  AND  GLORY.    113 

them  anything  you  like  in  my  name,  says  he  ;  "  for, 
by  my  sowl,  I  don't  think  it's  many  iv  them  'ill  come 
back  to  throuble  us,"  says  he,  winkin'  at  him. 

So  away  with  the  gineral,  an'  he  ordhers  out  the 
forlorn  hope,  an'  tells  the  band  to  play,  an'  everything 
else,  just  as  Bonypart  desired  him.  An'  sure  enough 
whin  Billy  Malowney  heerd  the  music  where  he  was 
standin'  taking  a  blast  of  the  dhudheen  to  compos  2 
his  mind  for  murdherin'  the  Frinchmen  as  usual,  being 
mighty  partial  to  tha:  tune  intirely,  he  cocks  his  ear 
a  one  side,  an'  down  he  stoops  to  listen  to  the  music  ; 
but,  begorra,  who  should  be  in  his  rare  all  the  time 
but  a  Frinch  grannideer  behind  a  bush,  and  seeing 
him  stooped  in  a  convenient  forum,  bedad  he  let  flies 
at  him  straight,  and  fired  him  right  forward  between 
the  legs  an'  the  small  iv  the  back,  glory  be  to  God  ! 
with  what  they  call  (saving  your  presence)  a  bum- 
shell. 

Well,  Bill  Malowney  let  one  roar  out  iv  him,  an' 
away  he  rolled  over  the  field  iv  battle  like  a  slitther 
(as  Bonypart  and  the  Duke  iv  Wellington,  that  was 
watching  the  manoeuvres  from  a  distance,  both  con- 
say  ved)  into  glory. 

An'  sure  enough  the  Frinch  was  overjoyed  beyant 
all  bounds,  an'  small  blame  to  them — an'  the  Duke  of 
Wellington,  I'm  toult,  was  never  all  out  the  same  man 
sinst. 

At  any  rate,  the  news  kem  home  how  Billy  Malowney 
was  murdhered  by  the  Frinch  in  furrin  parts. 

Well,  all  this  time,  you  may  be  sure,  there  was  no 
want  iv  boys  comin'  to  coort  purty  Molly  Donovan  ; 
but  one  way  ar  another,  she  always  kept  puttin'  them 
off  constant.  An'  though  her  father  and  mother  was 

I 


U4  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

nathurally  anxious  to  get  rid  of  her  rcspickably,  they 
did  not  like  to  marry  her  off  in  spite  iv  her  teeth. 

An'  this  way,  promising  one  while  and  puttin'  it  off 
another,  she  conthrived  to  get  on  from  one  Shrove 
to  another,  until  near  seven  years  was  over  and  gone  from 
the  time  when  Billy  Malowney  listed  for  furrin  sarvice. 

It  was  nigh  hand  a  year  from  the  time  whin  the  news 
iv  Leum-a-rinka  bein'  killed  by  the  Frinch  came  home, 
an'  in  place  iv  forgettin'  him,  as  the  saisins  wint  over, 
it's  what  Molly  was  growin'  paler  and  more  lonesome 
every  day,  antil  the  neighbours  thought  she  was  fallin' 
into  a  decline  ;  and  this  is  the  way  it  was  with  her  whin 
the  fair  of  Lisnamoe  kem  round. 

It  was  a  beautiful  evenin',  just  at  the  time  iv  the  reap- 
in'  iv  the  oats,  and  the  sun  was  shinin'  through  the  red 
clouds  far  away  over  the  hills  iv  Cahirmore. 

Her  father  an'  mother,  an'  the  biys  an'  girls,  was  all 
away  down  in  the  fair,  and  Molly  sittin'  all  alone  on  the 
step  of  the  stile,  listenin'  to  the  foolish  little  birds 
whistlin'  among  the  leaves — and  the  sound  of  the  moun- 
tain-river flowin'  through  the  stones  an'  bushes — an' 
the  crows  flyin'  home  high  overhead  to  the  woods  iv 
Glinvarlogh — an'  down  in  the  glen,  far  away,  she  could 
see  the  fair-green  iv  Lisnamoe  in  the  mi  t,  an'  sun- 
shine among  the  grey  rocks  and  threes — an'  the  cows 
an'  horses,  an'  the  blue  frieze,  an'  the  red  cloaks,  an 
the  tents,  an'  the  smoke,  an'  the  ould  round  tower — 
all  as  soft  an'  as  sorrowful  as  a  dhrame  iv  ould  times. 

An'  while  she  was  looking  this  way,  an'  thinking  iv 

Leum-a-rinka — poor  Bill  iv  the  dance,  that  was  sleepin' 

in  his  lonesome  glory  in  the  fields  of  Spain — she  began 

to  sing  the  song  he  used  to  like  so  well  in  the  ould  times  : 

'*  Shule,  shule,  shule  a-roon  ;  " 


BILLY  MALOWNEYS  TASTE  OF  LOVE  AND  GLORY.      115 

an'  when  she  ended  the  verse,  what  do  you  think  but 
she  heard  a  manly  voice  just  at  the  other  side  iv  the 
hedge,  singing  the  last  words  over  again  ! 

Well  she  knew  it ;  her  heart  fluttered  up  like  a  little 
bird  that  id  be  wounded,  and  then  dhropped  still  in  her 
breast.  It  was  himself.  In  a  minute  he  was  through 
the  hedge  and  standing  before  her. 

"  Leum  !  "    ays  she. 

"  Mavourneen  cuishla  machree  !  "  says  he  ;  and 
without  another  word  they  were  locked  in  one 
another's  arms. 

Well,  it  id  only  be  nansinse  for  me  thryin'  to  tell 
ye  all  the  foolish  things  they  said,  and  how  they  looked 
in  one  another's  faces,  an'  laughed,  an'  cried,  an' 
laughed  again  ;  and  how,  when  they  came  to  themselves' 
and  she  was  able  at  last  to  believe  it  was  raly  Billy  himself 
that  was  there,  actially  holdin'  her  hand,  and  lookin' 
in  her  eyes  the  same  way  as  ever,  barrin'  he  was  browner 
and  boulder,  an'  did  not,  maybe,  look  quite  as  merry 
in  himself  as  he  used  to  do  in  former  times — an' 
fondher  for  all,  an'  more  lovin'  than  ever — how  he 
tould  her  all  about  the  wars  wid  the  Frinchmen — an' 
how  he  was  wounded,  and  left  for  dead  in  the  field  of 
battle,  bein'  shot  through  the  breast,  and  how  he  was 
discharged,  an'  got  a  pinsion  iv  a  full  shillin'  a  day — 
and  how  he  was  come  back  to  live  the  rest  iv  his  days  in 
the  sweet  glen  iv  Lisnamoe,  an'  (if  only  she'd  consint) 
to  marry  herself  in  spite  iv  them  all. 

Well,  ye  may  aisily  think  they  had  plinty  to  talk 
about,  afther  seven  years  without  seeing  one  another  ; 
and  so  signs  on,  the  time  flew  by  as  swift  an'  as  pleasant 
as  a  bird  on  the  wing,  an'  the  sun  wint  down,  an'  the 
moon  shone  sweet,  yet  they  didn't  mind  a  ha'port 


Il6  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

about  it,  but  kept  talkin  an'  whisperin',  an'  whisperin' 
an'  talkin' ;  for  it's  wondherful  how  often  a  tinder- 
hearted  girl  will  bear  to  hear  a  purty  boy  tellin'  her 
the  same  story  constant  over  an'  over  ;  ontil  at  last, 
sure  enough,  they  heerd  the  ould  man  himself  comin' 
up  the  boreen,  singin'  the  "  Colleen  Rue  " — a  thing 
he  never  done  barrin'  whin  he  had  a  dhrop  in  ;  an' 
the  misthress  walkin'  in  front  iv  him  an'  two  illigant 
Kerry  cows  he  just  bought  in  the  fair,  an'  the  sarvint 
biys  dhriving  them  behind. 

"  Oh,  blessed  hour ! "  says  Molly,  "  here's  my 
father." 

"  I'll  spake  to  him  this  minute,"  says  Bill. 

"  Oh,  not  for  the  world,"  says  she  ;  "  he's  singin' 
the  '  Colleen  Rue,' "  says  she,  "  and  no  one  dar  raison 
with  him,"  says  she. 

"  An'  where'll  I  go  ?  "  says  he,  "  for  they're  into 
the  haggard  an  top  iv  us,"  says  he,  "  an'  they'll  see 
me  iv  I  lep  through  the  hedge,"  says  he. 

"  Thry  the  pig-sty,"  says  she,  "  mavourneen,"  says 
she,  "  in  the  name  iv  God,"  says  she. 

"  Well,  darlint,"  says  he,  "  for  your  sake,"  says  he, 
"  I'll  condescend  to  them  animals,"  says  he. 

An'  wid  that  he  makes  a  dart  to  get  in  ;  bud,  begorra, 
it  was  too  late — the  pigs  was  all  gone  home,  and  the 
pig-sty  was  as  full  as  the  Birr  coach  wid  six  inside. 

"  Och  !  blur-an'-agers,"  says  he,  "  there  is  not 
room  for  a  suckin'-pig,"  says  he,  "  let  alone  a  Christian," 
says  he. 

"  Well,  run  into  the  house,  Billy,"  says  she,  "  this 
minute,"  says  she,  "  an'  hide  yourself  antil  they're 
quiet,"  says  she,  "  an'  thin  you  can  steal  out,"  says 
she,  "  anknownst  to  them  all,"  says  she. 


BILLY  MALOWNEY'S  TASTE  OF  LOVE  AND  GLORY.    117 

"  I'll  do  your  biddin',"  says  he,  "  Molly  asthore," 
says  he. 

"  Run  in  thin,"  says  she,  "  an'  I'll  go  an'  meet  them," 
says  she. 

So  wid  that  away  wid  her,  and  in  wint  Billy,  an' 
where  did  he  hide  himself  bud  in  a  little  closet  that 
was  off  iv  the  room  where  the  ould  man  and  woman 
slep'.  So  he  closed  the  doore,  and  sot  down  in  an  ould 
chair  he  found  there  convanient. 

Well,  he  was  not  well  in  it  when  all  the  rest  iv  them 
comes  into  the  kitchen,  an'  ould  Tim  Donovan  singin' 
the  "  Colleen  Rue  "  for  the  bare  life,  an'  the  rest  i' 
them  sthrivin'  to  humour  him,  an  doin'  exactly  every- 
thing he  bid  them,  because  they  seen  he  was  foolish 
be  the  manes  of  the  liquor. 

Well,  to  be  sure  all  this  kep'  them  long  enough,  you 
may  be  sure,  from  goin'  to  bed,  so  that  Billy  could  get 
no  manner  iv  an  advantage  to  get  out  iv  the  house,  and 
so  he  sted  sittin'  in  the  dark  closet  in  state,  cursin'  the 
"  Colleen  Rue,"  and  wondhering  to  the  divil  whin 
they'd  get  the  ould  man  into  his  bed.  An',  as  if  that  was 
not  delay  enough,  who  should  come  in  to  stop  for  the 
night  but  Father  O' Flaherty,  of  Cahirmore,  that  was 
buyin'  a  horse  at  the  fair  !  An'  av  course,  there  was 
a  bed  to  be  med  down  for  his  Raverance,  an'  some  other 
attintions  ;  an'  a  long  discoorse  himself  an'  ould  Mrs. 
Donovan  had  about  the  slaughter  iv  Billy  Malowney, 
an'  how  he  w?s  buried  on  the  field  of  battle  ;  an'  his 
Raverance  hoped  he  got  a  dacent  funeral,  an 'all  the  other 
convaniences  iv  religion.  An'  so  you  may  suppose 
it  was  pretty  late  in  the  night  before  all  iv  them  got 
to  their  beds. 

Well,  Tim  Donovan  could  not  settle  to  sleep  at  all 


Il8  HUMOURS  OF  IRISH  LIFE. 

at  all,  an*  he  kep'  discoorsin'  the  wife  about  the  new 
cows  he  bought,  an'  the  strippers  he  sould,  an'  so  on 
for  better  than  an  hour,  ontil  from  one  thing  to  another 
he  kem  to  talk  about  the  pigs,  an'  the  poulthry,  and 
at  last,  having  nothing  betther  to  discoorse  about,  he 
begun  at  his  daughter  Molly,  an'  all  the  heartscald 
she  was  to  him  be  raisin  iv  refusin'  the  men.  An' 
at  last  says  he  : 

"  I  onderstand,"  says  he,  "  very  well  how  it  is,' 
says  he.  "  It's  how  she  was  in  love,"  says  he,  "  wid 
that  bliggard,  Billy  Malowney,"  says  he,  "  bad  luck 
to  him  !  "  says  he  ;  for  by  this  time  he  was  coming 
to  his  raison. 

"  Ah  !  "  says  the  wife,  says  she,  "  Tim  darlint,  don't 
be  cursin'  them  that's  dead  an'  buried,"  says  she. 

"  An'  why  would  not  I,"  says  he,  "  if  they  desarve 
it  ?  "  says  he. 

"  Whisht,"  says  she,  "  an'  listen  to  that,"  says  she. 
"  In  the  name  of  the  Blessed  Vargin,"  says  she,  "  what 
is  it  ?  "  says  she. 

An'  sure  enough  what  was  it  bud  Bill  Malowney 
that  was  dhroppin*  asleep  in  the  closet,  an'  snorin'  like 
a  church  organ. 

"  Is  it  a  pig,"  says  he,  "  or  is  it  a  Christian  ?  " 

"  Arra  !  listen  to  the  tune  iv  it,"  says  she  ;  "  sure 
a  pig  never  done  the  like  iv  that,"  says  she. 

"  Whatever  it  is,"  says  he,  "  it's  in  the  room  wid  us," 
says  he.  "  The  Lord  be  marciful  to  us  !  "  says  he. 

"  I  tould  you  not  to  be  cursin',"  says  she  ;  "  bad 
luck  to  you,"  says  she,  "  for  an  ommadhaun  !  "  for 
she  was  a  very  religious  woman  in  herself. 

"  Sure,  he's  buried  in  Spain,"  says  he  ;  "  an'  it  is 
not  for  one  little  innocent  expression,"  says  he,  "  he'd 
be  comin'  all  that  way  to  annoy  the  house,"  says  he. 


BILLY  MALOWNEYS  TASTE  OF  LOVE  ANF  GLO*>Y        ng 

Well,  while  they  war  talkin,'  Bill  turns  in  the  way 
he  was  sleepin'  into  an  aisier  imposture  ;  and  as  soon 
as  he  stopped  snorin'  ould  Tim  Donovan's  courage  riz 
agin,  and  says  he. 

"  I'll  go  to  the  kitchen,"  says  he,  "  an'  light  a  rish," 
says  he. 

An'  with  that  away  wid  him,  an'  the  wife  kep'  workin' 
the  beads  all  the  time,  an*  before  they  kem  back  Bill 
was  snorin'  as  loud  as  ever. 

"  Oh  !  bloody  wars — I  mane  the  blessed  saints  above 
us  ! — that  deadly  sound,"  says  he  ;  "  it's  going  on  as 
lively  as  ever,"  says  he. 

"  I'm  as  wake  as  a  rag,"  says  his  wife,  says  she,  "wi 
the  fair  anasiness,"  says  she.  "  It's  out  iv  the  little 
closet  it's  comin',"  says  she. 

"  Say  your  prayers,"  says  he,  "  an'  hould  your 
tongue,"  says  he,  "  while  I  discoorse  it,"  says  he. 
"  An'  who  are  ye,"  says  he,  "  in  the  name  iv  all  the 
holy  saints  ?  "  says  he,  givin'  the  door  a  dab  iv  a  crus- 
heen  that  wakened  Bill  inside. 

"  I  ax,"  says  he,  "  who  you  are  ?  "  says  he. 

Well,  Bill  did  not  rightly  remember  where  in  the 
world  he  was,  but  he  pushed  open  the  door,  an'  says 
he: 

"  Billy  Malowney's  my  name,"  says  he,  "  an'  I'll 
thank  ye  to  tell  me  a  betther,"  says  he. 

Well,  whin  Tim  Donovan  heard  that,  an'  actially 
seen  that  it  was  Bill  himself  that  was  in  it,  he  had  not 
strength  enough  to  let  a  bawl  out  iv  him,  but  he  dhropt 
the  candle  out  iv  his  hand,  an'  down  wid  himself  on  his 
back  in  the  dark. 

Well,  the  wife  let  a  screech  you'd  hear  at  the  mill 
iv  Killraghlin,  an' — 


120  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  Oh,"  says  she,  "  the  spirit  has  him,  body  an' 
bones ! "  says  she.  "  Oh,  holy  St.  Bridget— oh 
Mother  iv  Marcy — oh,  Father  O'Flaherty  !  "  says  she, 
screechin'  murdher  from  out  iv  her  bed. 

Well,  Bill  Malowney  was  not  a  minute  rememberin' 
himself,  an'  so  out  wid  him  quite  an'  aisy,  an'  through 
the  kitchen  ;  bud  in  place  iv  the  door  iv  the  house, 
it's  what  he  kem  to  the  door  iv  Father  O' Flaherty's 
little  room,  where  he  was  jist  wakenin'  wid  the  noise 
iv  the  screechin'  an'  battherin'  ;  an,'  bedad,  Bill  makes 
no  more  about  it,  but  he  jumps,  wid  one  boult,  clever 
an'  clane  into  his  Raverance's  bed. 

"  What  do  ye  mane,  you  uncivilised  bliggard  ? " 
says  his  Raverance.  "  Is  that  a  venerable  way,"  says 
he,  "  to  approach  your  clargy  ? "  says  he. 

"  Hould  your  tongue,"  says  Bill,  "  an'  I'll  do  ye  no 
harum,"  says  he. 

"  Who  are  you,  ye  schoundhrel  iv  the  world  ?'  says 
his  Raverance. 

'  Whisht !  "  says  he,  "  I'm  Bill  Malowney,"  says 
he. 

"  You  lie !  "  says  his  Raverance — for  he  was 
frightened  beyont  all  bearin' — an'  he  makes  bud  one 
jump  out  iv  the  bed  at  the  wrong  side,  where  there 
was  only  jist  a  little  place  in  the  wall  for  a  press,  an' 
his  Raverance  could  not  as  much  as  turn  in  it  for  the 
wealth  iv  kingdoms.  "  You  lie,"  says  he  ;  "  but  for 
fear  it's  the  thruth  you're  tellin',"  says  he,  "  here's 
at  ye  in  the  name  iv  all  the  blessed  saints  together  ! " 
says  he. 

An'  wid  that,  my  dear,  he  blazes  away  at  him  wid 
a  Latin  prayer  iv  the  strongest  description,  an',  as  he 
said  to  himself  afterwards,  that  was  iv  a  nature  that 


BILLY  MALOWNEY'S  TASTE  OF  LOVE  AND  GLORY.    121 

id  dhrive  the  divil  himself  up  the  chimley  like  a  puff 
iv  tobacky  smoke,  wid  his  tail  betune  his  legs. 

"  Arra,  what  are  ye  sthrivin'  to  say,"  says  Bill,  says 
he ;  "  if  ye  don't  hould  your  tongue,"  says  he,  "  wid 
your  parly  voo,"  says  he,  "  it's  what  I'll  put  my  thumb 
on  your  windpipe,"  says  he,  "  an'  Billy  Malowney 
never  wint  back  iv  his  word  yet,"  says  he. 

"  Thunder-an-owns,"  says  his  Raverance,  says  he 
— seein'  the  Latin  took  no  infect  on  him,  at  all  at  all, 
an'  screechin'  that  you'd  think  he'd  rise  the  thatch 
up  iv  the  house  wid  the  fair  fright — "  an'  thundher 
and  blazes,  boys,  will  none  of  yes  come  here  wid  a 
candle,  but  lave  your  clargy  to  be  choked  by  a  spirit 
in  the  dark  ?"  says  he. 

Well,  be  this  time  the  sarvint  boys  and  the  rest  iv 
them  wor  up  an'  half  dressed,  an'  in  they  all  run,  one 
on  top  iv  another,  wid  pitchforks  and  spades,  thinkin' 
it  was  only  what  his  Raverance  slep'  a  dhrame  iv  the  like, 
by  means  of  the  punch  he  was  afther  takin'  just  before 
he  rowl'd  himself  into  the  bed.  But,  begorra,  whin 
they  seen  it  was  raly  Billy  Malowney  himself  that  was 
in  it,  it  was  only  who'd  be  foremost  out  agin,  tumblin' 
backways,  one  over  another,  and  his  Raverance  roarin' 
an'  cursin'  them  like  mad  for  not  waitin'  for  him. 

Well,  my  dear,  it  was  betther  than  half  an  hour  before 
Billy  Malowney  could  explain  to  them  all  how  it  raly 
was  himself,  for  begorra  they  were  all  iv  them  per- 
suadin'  him  that  he  was  a  spirit  to  that  degree  it's  a 
wondher  he  did  not  give  in  to  it,  if  it  was  only  to  put 
a  stop  to  the  argiment. 

Well,  his  Raverance  tould  the  ould  people  then 
there  was  no  use  in  sthrivin'  agin  the  will  iv  Providence 
an'  the  vagaries  iv  love  united  ;  an'  whin  they  kem  to 


122  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH  LIFE. 

undherstand  to  a  sartinty  how  Billy  had  a  shillin'  a 
day  for  the  rest  iv  his  days,  begorra  they  took  rather 
a  likin'  to  him,  and  considhered  at  wanst  how  he  must 
hav  riz  out  of  all  his  nansinse  entirely,  or  His  gracious 
Majesty  id  never  have  condescinded  to  show  him  his 
countenance  every  day  of  his  life  on  a  silver 
shillin'. 

An*  so,  begorra,  they  never  stopt  till  it  was  all  settled 
— an*  there  was  not  sich  a  weddin'  as  that  in  the  coun- 
thry  sinst.  It's  more  than  forty  years  ago,  an'  though 
I  was  no  more  nor  a  gossoon  meself,  I  remimber  it  like 
yesterday.  Molly  never  looked  so  purty  before,  an' 
Billy  Malowney  was  plisant  beyont  all  hearin',  to  that 
degree  that  half  the  girls  in  it  was  fairly  tarin'  mad — 
only  they  would  not  let  on — they  had  not  him  to  them- 
selves in  place  iv  her.  An'  begorra,  I'd  be  afeared 
to  tell  ye,  because  you  would  not  believe  me,  since 
that  blessid  man  Father  Mathew  put  an  ent  to  all  soorts 
of  sociality,  the  Lord  reward  him,  how  many  gallons 
iv  pottieen  whisky  was  dhrank  upon  that  most  solemn 
and  tindher  occaison. 

Pat  Hanlon,  the  piper,  had  a  faver  out  iv  it ;  an' 
Neddy  Shawn  Heigue,  mountin'  his  horse  the  wrong 
way,  broke  his  collar-bone,  by  the  manes  iv  fallin'  over 
his  tail  while  he  was  feelin'  for  his  head  ;  an'  Payther 
Brian,  the  horse-docther,  I  am  tould,  was  never  quite 
right  in  the  head  ever  afther  ;  an'  ould  Tim  Donovan 
was  singin'  the  "  Colleen  Rue  "  night  and  day  for  a 
full  week  ;  an,  begorra  the  weddin'  was  only  the  foun- 
dation iv  fun,  and  the  beginning  iv  divarsion,  for  there 
was  not  a  year  for  ten  years  afther,  an'  more,  but 
brought  round  a  christenin'  as  regular  as  the  sasins 
revarted. 


A  PLEASANT  JOURNEY.  123 

A   Pleasant   Journey. 

"  From  the  Confessions  oj  Harry  Lorrequer. 
BY  CHARLES  LEVER. 

I,  HARRY  LORREQUER,  was  awaiting  the  mail  coach 
anxiously  in  the  Inn  at  Naas,  when  at  last  there  was 
the  sound  of  wheels,  and  the  driver  came  into  the 
room,  a  spectacle  of  condensed  moisture. 

"  Going  on  to-night,  sir,"  said  he,  addressing  me  ; 
"  severe  weather,  and  no  chance  of  its  clearing 
— but,  of  course,  you're  inside." 

"  Why,  there  is  very  little  doubt  of  that,"  said  I. 
"  Are  you  nearly  full  inside  ?  " 

"  Only  one,  sir  ;  but  he  seems  a  real  queer  chap  ; 
made  fifty  inquiries  at  the  office  if  he  could  not  have 
the  whole  inside  for  himself,  and  when  he  heard  that  one 
place  had  been  taken — yours,  I  believe,  sir, — he  seemed 
like  a  scalded  bear." 

"  You  don't  know  his  name,  then  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  he  never  gave  a  name  at  the  office,  and 
his  only  luggage  is  two  brown  paper  parcels,  without 
any  ticket,  and  he  has  them  inside  :  indeed,  he  never 
lets  them  from  him,  even  for  a  second." 

Here  the  guard's  horn  sounded. 

As  I  passed  from  the  inn-door  to  the  coach,  I  con- 
gratulated myself  that  I  was  about  to  be  housed  from 
the  terrific  storm  of  wind  and  rain  that  raged  without. 

"  Here's  the  step,  sir,"  said  the  guard  ;  "  get  in, 
sir,  two  minutes  late  already." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  I,  as  I  half  fell  over  the 
legs  of  my  unseen  companion.  "  May  I  request  leave 


124  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

to  pass  you  ?  "  While  he  made  way  for  me  for  this 
purpose,  I  perceived  that  he  stooped  down  and  said 
something  to  the  guard,  who,  from  his  answer,  had 
evidently  been  questioned  as  to  who  I  was. 

"  And  how  did  he  get  here  if  he  took  his  place  in 
Dublin  ?  "  asked  the  unknown. 

"  Came  half  an  hour  since,  sir,  in  a  chaise-and-four," 
said  the  guard,  as  he  banged  the  door  behind  him,  and 
closed  the  interview. 

"  A  severe  night,  sir,"  said  I. 

"  Mighty  severe,"  briefly  and  half-crustily  replied 
the  unknown,  in  a  strong  Cork  accent. 

"  And  a  bad  road,  too,  sir,"  said  I. 

"  That's  the  reason  I  always  go  armed,"  said  the 
unknown,  clinking  at  the  same  moment  something  like 
the  barrel  of  a  pistol. 

Wondering  somewhat  at  his  readiness  to  mistake  my 
meaning,  I  felt  disposed  to  drop  any  further  effort  to 
draw  him  out,  and  was  about  to  address  myself  to  sleep 
as  comfortably  as  I  could. 

"  I'll  just  trouble  ye  to  lean  off  that  little  parcel  there, 
sir,"  said  he,  as  he  displaced  from  its  position  beneath 
my  elbow  one  of  the  paper  packages  the  guard  had  already 
alluded  to. 

In  complying  with  this  rather  gruff  demand  one  of 
my  pocket  pistols,  which  I  carried  in  my  breast-pocket, 
fell  out  upon  his  knee,  upon  which  he  immediately 
started,  and  asked,  hurriedly  :  "  And  are  you  armed, 
too  ?  " 

"  Why  yes,"  said  I  laughingly  ;  "  men  of  my  trade 
seldom  go  without  something  of  this  kind." 

"  I  was  just  thinking  that  same,"  said  the  traveller 
with  a  half  sigh  to  himself. 


A  PLEASANT  JOURNEY.  125 

I  was  just  settling  myself  in  my  corner  when  I  was 
startled  by  a  very  melancholy  groan. 

"  Are  you  ill,  sir  ?  "  said  I,  in  a  voice  of  some  anxiety. 

"  You  may  say  that,"  replied  he,  "  if  you  knew  who 
you  were  talking  to ;  although,  maybe,  you've  heard 
enough  of  me,  though  you  never  saw  me  till  now." 

"  Without  having  that  pleasure  even  yet,"  said  I,  "it 
would  grieve  me  to  think  you  should  be  ill  in  the  coach." 

"  Maybe  it  might.  Did  ye  ever  hear  tell  of  Barney 
Doyle  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Not  to  my  recollection." 

"  Then  I'm  Barney,"  said  he,  "  that's  in  all  the  news- 
papers in  the  metropolis.  I'm  seventeen  weeks  in 
Jervis  Street  Hospital,  and  four  in  the  Lunatic,  and  the 
sorra  bit  better,  after  all.  You  must  be  a  stranger, 
I'm  thinking,  or  you'd  know  me  now." 

"  Why,  I  do  confess  I've  only  been  a  few  hours  in 
Ireland  for  the  last  six  months." 

"  Aye,  that's  the  reason  ;  I  knew  you  would  not  be 
fond  of  travelling  with  me  if  you  knew  who  it  was." 

"  Why,  really,  I  did  not  anticipate  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  you." 

"  It's  pleasure  ye  call  it ;  then  there's  no  accountin' 
for  tastes,  as  Dr.  Colles  said,  when  he  saw  me  bite 
Cusack  Rooney's  thumb  off." 

"  Bite  a  man's  thumb  off  !  " 

"  Aye,"  said  he,  with  a  kind  of  fiendish  animation, 
"  in  one  chop,  I  wish  you'd  see  how  I  scattered  the 
consultation  ; — they  didn't  wait  to  ax  for  a  fee." 

"  A  very  pleasant  vicinity,"  thought  I.  "  And  may 
I  ask,  sir,"  said  I,  in  a  very  mild  and  soothing  tone  of 
voice — "  may  I  ask  the  reason  for  this  singular  pro- 
pensity of  yours  ?  " 


126  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  There  it  is  now,  my  dear,"  said  he,  laying  his  hand 
upon  my  knee  familiarly,  "  that's  just  the  very  thing 
they  can't  make  out.  Colles  says  it's  all  the  cerebellum, 
ye  see,  that's  inflamed  and  combusted,  and  some  of  the 
others  think  it's  the  spine  ;  and  more  the  muscles  ; 
but  my  real  impression  is,  not  a  bit  they  know  about 
it  at  all." 

"  And  have  they  no  name  for  the  malady  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Oh,  sure  enough  they  have  a  name  for  it." 

"  And  may  I  ask — 

"  Why,  I  think  you'd  better  not,  because,  ye  see, 
maybe  I  might  be  troublesome  to  ye  in  the  night, 
though  I'll  not,  if  I  can  help  it ;  and  it  might  be  uncom- 
fortable to  you  to  be  here  if  I  was  to  get  one  of  the 
fits." 

"  One  of  the  fits !  Why,  it's  not  possible,  sir," 
said  I,  "  you  would  travel  in  a  public  conveyance  in 
the  state  you  mention  ;  your  friends  surely  would  not 
permit  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  if  they  knew,  perhaps,"  slily  responded 
the  interesting  invalid — "  if  they  knew,  they  might  not 
exactly  like  it ;  but  ye  see,  I  escaped  only  last  night, 
and  there'll  be  a  fine  hubbub  in  the  morning  when  they 
find  I'm  off ;  though  I'm  thinking  Rooney's  barking 
away  by  this  time." 

"  Rooney  barking  ! — why,  what  does  that  mean  ?  " 

"  They  always  bark  for  a  day  or  two  after  they're 
bit,  if  the  infection  comes  first  from  the  dog." 

"  You  are  surely  not  speaking  of  hydrophobia  ? " 
said  I,  my  hair  actually  bristling  with  horror  and  con- 
sternation. 

"  Ain't  I  ?"  replied  he  ;  "  maybe  you've  guessed  it, 
though." 


A   PLEASANT  JOURNEY.  127 

"  And  you  have  the  malady  on  you  at  present  ?  " 
said  I  trembling  for  the  answer. 

"  This  is  the  ninth  day  since  I  took  to  biting,"  said 
he,  gravely. 

"  And  with  such  a  propensity,  sir,  do  you  think 
yourself  warranted  in  travelling  in  a  public  coach, 
exposing  others " 

"  You'd  better  not  raise  your  voice  that  way.  If 
I'm  roused  it'll  be  worse  for  ye,  that's  all." 

"  Well,  but,  is  it  exactly  prudent,  in  your  present 
delicate  state,  to  undertake  a  journey  ?  " 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  with  a  sigh,  "  I've  been  longing  to 
see  the  fox-hounds  throw  off  near  Kilkenny  ;  these  three 
weeks  I've  been  thinking  of  nothing  else  ;  but  I'm  not 
sure  how  my  nerves  will  stand  the  cry  ;  I  might  be 
troublesome." 

"  Well,"  thought  I,  "  I  shall  not  select  that  morning 
for  my  debut  in  the  field." 

"  I  hope,  sir,  there's  no  river  or  watercourse  in  this 
road  ;  anything  else  I  can,  I  hope,  control  myself 
against  ;  but  water — running  water  particularly — makes 
me  troublesome." 

Well  knowing  what  he  meant  by  the  latter  phrase, 
I  felt  the  cold  perspiration  settling  on  my  forehead  as 
I  remembered  that  we  must  be  within  about  ten  or 
twelve  miles  of  a  bridge,  where  we  should  have  to  pass 
a  very  wide  river.  I  strictly  concealed  this  fact  from 
him,  however.  He  now  sank  into  a  kind  of  moody 
silence,  broken  occasionally  by  a  low,  muttering  noise, 
as  if  speaking  to  himself. 

How  comfortable  my  present  condition  was  I  need 
scarcely  remark,  sitting  vis-a-vis  to  a  lunatic,  with  a 
pair  of  pistols  in  his  possession,  who  had  already  avowed 


128  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

his  consciousness  of  his  tendency  to  do  mischief,  and  his 
inability  to  master  it — all  this  in  the  dark,  and  in  the 
narrow  limits  of  a  mail-coach,  where  there  was  scarcely 
room  for  defence,  and  no  possibility  of  escape.  If 
I  could  only  reach  the  outside  of  the  coach  I  would  be 
happy.  What  were  rain  and  storm,  thunder  and 
lightning  compared  with  the  chance  that  awaited  me 
here  ? — wet  through  I  should  inevitably  be  :  but,  then, 
I  had  not  yet  contracted  the  horror  of  moisture  my 
friend  opposite  laboured  under.  Ha  !  what  is  that  ? 
— is  it  possible  he  can  be  asleep  ; — is  it  really  a  snore  ? 
Ah,  there  it  is  again  ; — he  must  be  asleep,  surely  ; — 
now,  then,  is  my  time,  or  never.  I  slowly  let  down  the 
window  of  the  coach,  and,  stretching  forth  my  hand, 
turned  the  handle  cautiously  and  slowly  ;  I  next  dis- 
engaged my  legs,  and  by  a  long,  continuous  effort  of 
creeping,  I  withdrew  myself  from  the  seat,  reached  the 
step,  when  I  muttered  something  very  like  thanksgiving 
to  Providence  for  my  rescue.  With  little  difficulty 
I  now  climbed  up  beside  the  guard,  whose  astonishment 
at  my  appearance  was  indeed  considerable. 

Well,  on  we  rolled,  and  very  soon,  more  dead  than 
alive,  I  sat  a  mass  of  wet  clothes,  like  a  morsel  of  black 
and  spongy  wet  cotton  at  the  bottom  of  a  schoolboy's 
ink-bottle,  saturated  with  rain  and  the  black  dye  of  my 
coat.  My  hat,  too,  had  contributed  its  share  of  colouring 
matter,  and  several  long,  black  streaks  coursed  down  my 
"  wrinkled  front,"  giving  me  very  much  the  air  of  an 
Indian  warrior  who  had  got  the  first  priming  of  his 
war  paint.  I  certainly  must  have  been  a  rueful  object, 
were  I  only  to  judge  from  the  faces  of  the  waiters  as  they 
gazed  on  me  when  the  coach  drew  up  at  Rice  and 
Walsh's  Hotel. 


A  PLEASANT  JOURNEY.  I2Q 

Cold,  wet,  and  weary  as  I  was,  my  curiosity  to  learn 
more  of  my  late  agreeable  companion  was  strong  as  ever 
within  me.  I  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  back,  and 
hurried  after  the  great  unknown  into  the  coffee  room. 
By  the  time  I  entered,  he  was  spreading  himself  com- 
fortably, a  r Anglais,  before  the  fire,  and  displayed  to 
my  wandering  and  stupefied  gaze  the  pleasant  features 
of  Dr.  Finucane. 

"  Why,  Doctor — Doctor  Finucane,"  cried  I,  "  is  it 
ossible  ?    Were   you,   then,   really  the  inside  in  the 
mail  last  night  ?  " 

"  Not  a  doubt  of  it,  Mr.  Lorrequer  ;  and  may  I  make 
bould  to  ask  were  you  the  outside  ?  " 

"  Then  what,  may  I  beg  to  know,  did  you  mean  by 
your  story  about  Barney  Doyle,  and  the  hydrophobia, 
and  Cusack  Rooney's  thumb — eh  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Finucane,  "  this  will  be  the  death  of  me. 
And  it  was  you  that  I  drove  outside  in  all  the  rain  last 
night  ?  Oh,  it  will  kill  Father  Malachi  outright  with 
laughing  when  I  tell  him."  And  he  burst  out  into  a 
fit  of  merriment  that  nearly  induced  me  to  break  his 
head  with  a  poker. 

"  Am  I  to  understand,  then,  Mr.  Finucane,  that  this 
practical  joke  of  yours  was  contrived  for  my  benefit  and 
for  the  purpose  of  holding  me  up  to  the  ridicule  of  your 
acquaintances  ?  " 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Fin.,  drying  his  eyes, 
and  endeavouring  to  look  sorry  and  sentimental.  "  If 
I  had  only  the  least  suspicion  in  life  that  it  was  you,  I'd 
not  have  had  the  hydrophobia  at  all — and,  to  tell  you 
the  truth,  you  were  not  the  only  one  frightened — you 
alarmed  me,  too." 

"  I  alarmed  you  !     Why,  how  can  that  be  ?  " 

K 


130  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH    LIFE. 

"  Why,  the  real  affair  is  this  :  I  was  bringing  these 
two  packages  of  notes  down  to  my  cousin  Callaghan's 
bank  in  Cork — fifteen  thousand  pounds,  and  when  you 
came  into  the  coach  at  Naas,  I  thought  it  was  all  up 
with  me.  The  guard  just  whispered  in  my  ear  that  he 
saw  you  look  at  the  priming  of  your  pistols  before 
getting  in.  Well,  when  you  got  seated,  the  thought 
came  into  my  mind  that  maybe,  highwayman  as  you 
were,  you  would  not  like  dying  an  unnatural  death, 
more  particularly  if  you  were  an  Irishman  ;  and  so  I 
trumped  up  that  long  story  about  the  hydrophobia, 
and  the  gentleman's  thumb,  and  dear  knows  what 
besides  ;  and,  while  I  was  telling  it,  the  cold  perspira- 
tion was  running  down  my  head  and  face,  for  every  time 
you  stirred  I  said  to  myself — Now  he'll  do  it.  Two  or 
three  times,  do  you  know,  I  was  going  to  offer  you  ten 
shillings  in  the  pound,  to  spare  my  life  ;  and  once, 
God  forgive  me,  I  thought  it  would  not  be  a  bad  plan 
to  shoot  you  by  '  mistake,'  do  you  perceive  ?  " 

"  Why,  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  your 
excessively  kind  intentions  ;  but,  really,  I  feel  you  have 
done  quite  enough  for  me  on  the  present  occasion. 
But,  come  now,  doctor,  I  must  get  to  bed,  and,  before 
I  go,  promise  me  two  things — to  dine  with  us  to-day  at 
the  mess,  and  not  to  mention  a  syllable  of  what  occurred 
last  night  :  it  tells,  believe  me,  very  badly  for  both. 
So  keep  the  secret ;  for  if  these  fellows  of  ours  ever 
get  hold  of  it  I  may  sell  out,  and  quit  the  army  ; — I'll 
never  hear  the  end  of  it !  " 

"  Never  fear,  my  boy  ;  trust  me.  I'll  dine  with  you, 
and  you're  as  safe  as  a  church  mouse  for  anything  I'll 
tell  them  ;  so  now,  you'd  better  change  your  clothes, 
for  I'm  thinking  it  rained  last  night." 


THE   BATTLE  OF   AUGHRIM.  131 

The   Battle   of  Aughrim. 

From  "Anna  Cosgrave"  an  unpublished  Novel. 
BY  WILLIAM  CARLETON. 

MANY  of  our  readers  will  be  surprised  at  what  we 
are  about  to  relate.  Nay,  what  is  more,  we  fear  they  will 
not  yield  us  credence,  but  impute  it  probably  to  our 
own  invention  ;  whereas  we  beg  to  assure  them  that  it 
is  strictly  and  literally  true.  The  period  of  the  scene 
we  are  about  to  describe  may  be  placed  in  the  year 
1806.  At  the  time  neither  party  feeling  nor  religious 
animosity  had  yet  subsided  after  the  ferment  of  the 
'98  insurrection  and  the  division  between  the  Catholic 
and  Protestant  population  was  very  strong  and  bitter. 
The  rebellion,  which  commenced  in  its  first  principles 
among  the  northern  Presbyterians  and  other  Protestant 
classes  in  a  spirit  of  independence  and  a  love  of  liberty, 
soon,  in  consequence  of  the  influence  of  some  bigots, 
assumed  the  character  of  a  civil  war  between  the  two 
religions, — the  most  internecine  description  of  war  that 
ever  devastated  a  country  or  drenched  it  in  blood. 

A  usual  amusement  at  the  time  was  to  reproduce  the 
"  Battle  of  Aughrim,"  in  some  spacious  barn,  with  a 
winnowing-cloth  for  the  curtain.  This  play,  bound 
up  with  "  The  Siege  of  Londonderry,"  was  one  of  the 
reading-books  in  the  hedge  schools  of  that  day,  and  cir- 
culated largely  among  the  people  of  all  religions  :  it  had, 
indeed,  a  most  extraordinary  influence  among  the  lower 
classes.  "  The  Battle  of  Aughrim,"  however,  because 
it  was  written  in  heroic  verse,  became  so  popular  that 
it  was  rehearsed  at  almost  every  Irish  hearth,  both 


132  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

Catholic  and  Protestant,  in  the  north.  The  spirit  it 
evoked  was  irresistible.  The  whole  country  became 
dramatic.  To  repeat  it  at  the  fireside  in  winter  nights 
was  nothing  :  the  Orangemen  should  act  it,  and  show 
to  the  whole  world  how  the  field  of  Aughrim  was  so 
gloriously  won.  The  consequence  was  that  frequent 
rehearsals  took  place.  The  largest  and  most  spacious 
barns  and  kilns  were  fitted  up,  the  night  of  representa- 
tion was  given  out,  and  crowds,  even  to  suffocation, 
as  they  say,  assembled  to  witness  the  celebrated  "  Battle 
of  Aughrim." 

At  first,  it  was  true,  the  Orangemen  had  it  all  to  them- 
selves. This,  however,  could  not  last.  The  Catholics 
felt  that  they  were  as  capable  of  patronising  the  drama 
as  the  victors  of  Aughrim.  A  strong  historic  spirit 
awoke  among  them.  They  requested  of  the  Orangemen 
to  be  allowed  the  favour  of  representing  the  Catholic 
warriors  of  the  disastrous  field,  and,  somewhat  to  their 
surprise,  the  request  was  immediately  granted.  The 
Orangemen  felt  that  there  was  something  awkward 
and  not  unlike  political  apostasy  in  acting  the  part  of 
Catholics  in  the  play,  under  any  circumstances,  no 
matter  how  dramatic.  It  was  consequently  agreed 
that  the  Orangemen  should  represent  the  officers  of 
the  great  man  on  whose  name  and  title  their  system 
had  been  founded,  and  the  Catholics  should  represent 
their  own  generals  and  officers  under  the  name  of  St. 
Ruth,  Sarsfield,  and  Colonel  O'Neill.  The  first  repre- 
sentation of  this  well-known  play  took  place  in  the  town 

of  Au .  During  the  few  weeks  before  the  great  night 

nothing  was  heard  but  incessant  repetitions  and  rehearsals 
of  the  play. 

The  fact  of  this  enactment  of  the  play  by  individuals 


THE  BATTLE  OF   AUGHRIM.  133 

so  strongly  opposed  to  each  other  both  in  religion  and 
politics  excited  not  only  an  unusual  degree  of  curiosity, 
but  some  apprehension  as  to  the  result,  especially  when 
such  language  as  this  was  heard  : — 

"  We  licked  them  before,"  said  the  Orangemen,  "  an' 
by  japers,  we'll  lick  them  again.  Jack  Tait  acts  General 
Jingle,  an'  he's  the  boy  will  show  them  what  chance 
a  Papist  has  against  a  Prodestan  !  " 

"  Well,  they  bate  us  at  Aughrim,"  said  the  Catholics, 
"  but  with  Tarn  Whiskey  at  our  head,  we'll  turn  the  tebles 
and  lick  them  now." 

Both  parties  on  that  night  were  armed  with  swords 
for  the  battle  scene,  which  represented  the  result  of  the 
engagement.  Unfortunately,  when  the  scene  came  on> 
instead  of  the  bloodless  fiction  of  the  drama  they  began 
to  slash  each  other  in  reality,  and  had  it  not  been  for 
the  interference  of  the  audience  there  is  no  doubt  that 
lives  would  have  been  lost.  After  this,  swords  were 
interdicted  and  staves  substituted.  The  consequence, 
as  might  have  been  expected,  was  that  heads  were 
broken  on  both  sides,  and  a  general  fight  between  Pro- 
testant and  Catholic  portions  of  the  actors  and  the 
audience  ensued. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  dramatic  mania  had  become  an 
epidemic.  Its  fascination  carried  overt  opposition 
before  it.  A  new  system  was  adopted.  The  Orange 
party  was  to  be  represented  by  staunch  Catholics,  all 
probably  Ribbonmen,  and  the  Catholics  by  the  rankest 
and  most  violent  Orangemen  in  the  parish.  This  course 
was  resorted  to  in  order  to  prevent  the  serious  quarrels 
with  which  the  play  generally  closed.  Such  was  the 
state  which  the  dramatic  affairs  of  the  parish  had 
reached  when  the  occasion,  a  summer  evening,  arrived 


134  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

that  had  been  appointed  by  the  herculean  manager, 
John  Tait,  for  the  exhibition  of  "  The  Battle  of  Aughrim," 
in  a  large  and  roomy  barn  of  a  wealthy  farmer  named 
Jack  Stuart,  in  the  townland  of  Rark. 

His  house  stood  on  a  little  swelling  eminence  beside 
which  an  old  road  ran,  and  into  which  the  little  green 
before  the  door  sloped.  The  road,  being  somewhat 
lower,  passed  close  to  his  outhouses,  which  faced  the 
road,  but  in  consequence  of  their  positions  a  loft  was 
necessary  to  constitute  the  barn,  so  that  it  might  be  level 
with  the  haggard  on  the  elevation.  The  entrance  to 
the  barn  was  by  a  door  in  one  of  the  gables,  whilst  the 
stable  and  cow-house,  or  byre  as  it  was  called,  were 
beneath  the  loft,  and  had  their  door  open  to  the  road. 
This  accurate  description  will  be  found  necessary  in 
order  to  understand  what  followed. 

In  preparing  the  barn  for  the  entertainment,  the 
principal  embarrassment  consisted  in  want  of  seats. 

Necessity,  however,  is  well-known  to  be  the  mother 
of  invention  ;  and  in  this  case  that  fact  was  established 
at  the  expense  of  honest  Jack  Stuart.  Five  or  six  sacks 
of  barley  were  stretched  length-wise  on  that  side  of  the 
wall  which  faced  the  road.  Now,  barley,  although 
the  juice  of  it  makes  many  a  head  light,  is  admitted  to 
be  the  heaviest  of  all  grain.  On  the  opposite  side, 
next  the  haggard,  the  seats  consisted  of  chairs  and  forms, 
some  of  them  borrowed  from  the  neighbours.  The 
curtain  (i.e.,  the  winno wing-cloth)  was  hung  up  at  the 
south  end,  and  everything,  so  far  as  preparation  went, 
was  very  well  managed.  Of  course,  it  was  unnecessary 
to  say  that  the  entertainment  was  free  to  such  as  could 
find  room,  for  which  there  was  many  an  angry  struggle 

We  have  said  that  from  an  apprehension  that  the 


THE  BATTLE  OF  AUGHRIM.  135 

heroes  on  both  sides  might  forget  the  fiction  and  resort 
to  reality  by  actual  fighting,  it  had  generally  been  arranged 
that  the  Catholic  party  should  be  represented  by  the 
Orangemen,  and  vice  versa ;  and  so  it  was  in  this 
instance.  The  caste  of  the  piece  was  as  follows  : — 
Baron  de  Ginckel  (General  of  the  English  forces) . . 

Tom  Whiskey. 

(A  perfect  devil  at  the  cudgels  when  sober, 
especially  against  an  Orangeman.) 

Marquis  de  Ruvigny Denis  Shevlin 

(Ditto  with  Tom  Whiskey  as  to  fighting.) 

General  Talmash Barney  Broghan. 

(A  fighting  Blacksmith.) 

General  Mackay Dandy  Delaney. 

(At   present  on   his   keeping — but   place   of   birth 

unknown.) 

Colonels  Herbert   and  Earles   . .    Tom     M'Roarkin, 

of  Springstown,  and 
Paddy  Rafferty,  of 
Dernascrobe. 

(Both  awfully  bellicose,  and  never  properly  at  peace 
unless  when  in  a  fight.) 

The  cast  of  the  Catholic  leaders  was  this  : — 
Monsieur  St.  Ruth  (General  of  the  Irish  Forces). . 

Jacky  Vengeance. 

(An  Orangeman  who  had  lost  a  brother  at  the  battle 
of  Vinegar  Hill,  hence  the  nickname  of  Vengeance.) 

Sarsfield    Big  Jack  Tait. 

(Master  of  an  Orange  Lodge.) 

(We  know  not  how  far  the  belief  in  Sarsfield's  immense 
size  is  true  to  fact  ;  but  be  this  as  it  may,  we  have 
it  from  the  tradition  that  he  was  a  man  of  pro- 


136  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

digious  stature,  and  Jack  was  six  feet  four  in  height, 
and  strong  in  proportion.) 

General   Dorrington    George   Twin 

(Of  Mallybarry,  another  man  of  prowess  in  party 
rights,  and  an  Orangeman.) 

Colonel  Talbot  Lick-Papish  Nelson 

Colonel  Gordon  O'Neill Fighting  Grimes. 

Sir  Charles  Godfrey  (a  young  English  gentleman 

of    fortune,    in    love    with    Colonel    Talbot 's 

Daughter,  and  volunteer  in  the  Irish  army) 

Jemmy  Lynch,  the  fighting  tailor. 
(He  fought  for  his  customers,  whether  Orange  or 
Green,  according  as  they  came  in  his  way.) 

Jemima  (Colonel    Talbot's    daughter) 

Grasey  (Grace)  Stuart. 
(A  bouncing  virago,  at  least  twelve  stone  weight.) 

Lucinda  (wife  of  Colonel  Herbert) Dolly  Stuart 

(Her  sister,  much  of  the  same  proportions.) 

Ghost Cooney  Mullowney 

(Of  the  Bohlies,  a  townland  adjoining.) 
On  the  chairs  and  forms,  being  the  seats  of  honour, 
were  placed  the  Protestant  portion  of  the  audience, 
because  they  were  the  most  wealthy  and  consequently 
the  most  respectable,  at  least  in  the  eyes  of  the  world 
— by  which  we  mean  the  parish.  On  the  barley-sacks 
were  deposited  the  "  Papishes,"  because  they  were 
then  the  poor  and  the  downtrodden  people,  so  that  they 
and  "  the  Prodestants  "  sat  on  opposite  sides  of  the 
barn.  There  were  no  political  watch- words,  no  "  three 
cheers  "  for  either  this  man  or  that,  owing  to  the  simple 
reason  that  no  individual  present  had  ever  seen  a  theatre 
in  his  life.  The  only  exception  was  that  of  an  unfortu- 
nate flunkey,  who  had  seen  a  play  in  Dublin,  and  shouted 


THE  BATTLE  OF   AUGHRIM.  137 

"  up  with  the  rag,"  for  which,  as  it  was  supposed  that  he 
meant  to  turn  the  whole  thing  into  ridicule,  he  was 
kicked  out  by  the  Ghost,  who,  by  the  way,  was  one  of 
the  stoutest  fellows  among  them,  and  would  have  been 
allotted  to  a  higher  part  were  it  not  for  the  vileness  of 
his  memory. 

At  length  the  play  commenced,  and  went  on  with 
remarkable  success.  The  two  batches  of  heroes  were  in 
high  feather — King  William's  party  (to  wit,  Tom 
Whiskey  and  his  friends)  standing  accidentally  on  that 
side  of  the  barn  which  was  occupied  by  the  barley- 
sacks  and  the  Papishes,  and  the  Catholic  generals  ranged 
with  the  Orange  audience  on  the  opposite  side  It  was 
now  the  Ghost's  cue  to  enter  from  behind  the  winnowing- 
cloth,  but  before  the  apparition  had  time  to  appear,  the 
prompter's  attention  was  struck  by  a  sudden  sinking 
of  the  party  on  the  sacks,  which  seemed  rather  unac- 
countable. Yet,  as  it  did  not  appear  to  have  been  felt 
by  the  parties  themselves,  who  were  too  much  wrapped 
up  in  the  play,  it  excited  neither  notice  nor  alarm.  At 
length  the  Ghost  came  out,  dressed  in  a  white  sheet 
his  face  rendered  quite  spectral  by  flour.  Sir  Charles 
Godfrey,  alias  Jemmy  Lynch,  the  tailor,  had  just  con- 
cluded the  following  words,  addressed  to  the  Ghost 
himself,  who  in  life  it  appeared  had  been  his  father  : — 

"  Oh,  I'll  sacrifice 

A  thousand  Romish  sowls  who,  shocked  with  woe, 
Shall,  bound  in  shackles,  fill  the  shades  below." 
Ghost. — "  Be  not  so  rash,  wild  youth " 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  the  words  when  a  noise  like 
the  "  crack  of  doom  "  was  heard  :  one-half  of  the  barn- 
floor  had  disappeared !  The  Ghost  made  a  step  to 


138  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

approach  Sir  Charles,  his  son,  when  the  last  object  we 
saw  was  his  heels — his  legs  dressed  in  blue  woollen 
stockings  and  his  sturdy  hinder  parts  cased  in  strong 
corduroys,  in  the  act  of  disappearing  in  the  abyss 
beneath.  Down  he  and  the  others  went,  and  were 
lodged  in  the  cow-house  below  amid  the  warm  manure. 
The  consternation,  the  alarm,  the  fright  and  terror 
among  the  safe  and  Protestant  side  of  the  audience, 
could  not  be  described.  But  the  disaster  proved  to  be 
one  of  the  most  harmless  for  its  nature  that  ever  occurred, 
for  it  was  only  destructive  to  property.  Not  a  single 
injury  was  sustained  with  the  exception  of  that  which 
befell  the  Ghost,  who  had  his  arm  dislocated  at  the 
elbow.  The  accident  now  resumed  a  religious  hue. 
The  Catholics  charged  the  others  with  the  concoction 
of  a  Protestant  plot,  by  putting  them  together  on  what 
they  called  the  rotten  side  of  the  house.  The  wrangle 
became  high  and  abusive,  and  was  fast  hastening  into 
polemical  theology,  when  the  dramatis  persona  offered 
to  settle  it  in  a  peaceable  way,  by  fighting  out  the  battle 
on  the  green.  It  was  the  scene  of  terrible  and  strong 
confusion,  so  much  so  that  all  we  can  glean  from  our 
recollection  is  the  image  of  a  desperate  personal  conflict 
between  the  actors  whose  orange  and  green  ribbons 
were  soon  flung  off  as  false  emblems  of  the  principles 
which  they  had  adopted  only  for  the  sake  of  ending  the 
play  in  a  peaceable  manner. 


THE  QUARE  GANDER.  139 

The   Quare   Gander. 

From  "  The  Purcell  Papers" 
BY  JOSEPH  SHERIDAN  LE  FANU 

TERENCE  MOONEY  was  an  honest  boy  and  well-to-do — 
an'  he  tinted  the  biggest  farm  on  this  side  iv  the  Galties, 
an'  bein'  mighty  cute  an'  a  sevare  worker,  it  was  small 
wonder  he  turned  a  good  penny  every  harvest ;  but, 
unluckily,  he  was  blessed  with  an  ilegant  large  family 
iv  daughters,  an'  iv  coorse  his  heart  was  allamost  bruck, 
strivin*  to  make  up  fortunes  for  the  whole  of  them — an' 
there  wasn't  a  conthrivance  iv  any  sort  of  description 
for  makin*  money  out  iv  the  farm  but  he  was  up  to. 
Well,  among  the  other  ways  he  had  iv  gettin'  up  in  the 
world,  he  always  kep'  a  power  iv  turkies,  and  all  soarts 
iv  poultry  ;  an'  he  was  out  iv  all  raison  partial  to  geese — 
an'  small  blame  to  him  for  that  same — for  twiste  a  year 
you  can  pluck  them  as  bare  as  my  hand— an'  get  a 
fine  price  for  the  feathers,  and  plenty  of  rale  sizeable 
eggs — an'  when  they  are  too  ould  to  lay  any  more,  you 
can  kill  them,  an*  sell  them  to  the  gintlemen  for  goslings, 
d'ye  see, — let  alone  that  a  goose  is  the  most  manly  bird 
that  is  out.  Well,  it  happened  in  the  coorse  iv  time, 
that  one  ould  gandher  tuck  a  wondherful  likin'  to 
Terence,  an'  sorra  a  place  he  could  go  serenadin'  about 
the  farm,  or  lookin'  afther  the  men,  but  the  gandher  id 
be  at  his  heels,  an'  rubbin'  himself  agin  his  legs,  and 
lookin'  up  in  his  face  just  like  any  other  Christian  id 
do  ;  and  the  likes  iv  it  was  never  seen,  Terence  Mooney 
an'  the  gandher  wor  so  great.  An'  at  last  the  bird  was 


140  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

so  engagin'  that  Terence  would  not  allow  it  to  be 
plucked  any  more  ;  an'  kept  it  from  that  time  out  for 
love  an'  affection  ;  just  all  as  one  like  one  iv  his  children. 
But  happiness  in  perfection  never  lasts  long  ;  an'  the 
neighbours  begin'd  to  suspect  the  nathur  and  intentions 
iv  the  gandher  ;  an'  some  iv  them  said  it  was  the  divil, 
and  more  iv  them  that  it  was  a  fairy.  Well  Terence  could 
not  but  hear  something  of  what  was  sayin',  and  you  may 
be  sure  he  was  not  altogether  aisy  in  his  mind  about  it, 
an'  from  one  day  to  another  he  was  gettin'  more 
ancomfortable  in  himself,  until  he  detarmined  to  sind  for 
Jer  Garvan,  the  fairy  docthor  in  Garryowen,  an'  it's  he 
was  the  ilegant  hand  at  the  business,  and  sorra  a  sperit 
id  say  a  crass  word  to  him,  no  more  nor  a  priest ;  an' 
moreover,  he  was  very  great  wid  ould  Terence  Mooney, 
this  man's  father  that  was.  So  without  more  about 
it,  he  was  sent  for  ;  an'  sure  enough,  not  long  he  was 
about  it,  for  he  kem  back  that  very  evening  along  wid  the 
boy  that  was  sint  for  him  ;  an'  as  soon  as  he  was  there, 
an'  tuk  his  supper,  an'  was  done  talkin'  for  a  while, 
he  bigined,  of  coorse,  to  look  into  the  gandher.  Well, 
he  turned  it  this  way  an'  that  way,  to  the  right  and  to 
the  left,  an'  straight- ways,  an'  upside  down,  an'  when 
he  was  tired  handlin'  it,  says  he  to  Terence  Mooney  : 

"  Terence,"  says  he,  "  you  must  remove  the  bird 
into  the  next  room,"  says  he,  "  an'  put  a  petticoat," 
says  he,  "  or  any  other  convaynience  round  his  head," 
says  he. 

"  An'  why  so  ?  "  says  Terence. 

"  Becase,"  says  Jer,  says  he. 

"  Becase  what  ?  "  says  Terence. 

"  Becase,"  says  Jer,  "  if  it  isn't  done — you'll  never 
be  aisy  agin,"  says  he,  "  or  pusilanimous  in  your  mind," 


THE   QUARE   GANDER.  141 

says  he  ;  "  so  ax  no  more  questions,  but  do  my  biddin,'  " 
says  he. 

"  Well,"  says  Terence,  "  have  your  own  way,"  says  he. 

An'  wid  that  he  tuk  the  ould  gandher,  and  giv'  it 
to  one  iv  the  gossoons. 

"  An'  take  care,"  says  he,  "  don't  smother  the  crathur," 
says  he. 

Well,  as  soon  as  the  bird  was  gone,  says  Jer  Garvan, 
says  he,  "  Do  you  know  what  that  ould  gandher  is, 
Terence  Mooney  ?  " 

"  Sorra  a  taste,"  says  Terence. 

"  Well,  then,"  says  Jer,  "  the  gandher  is  your  own 
father,"  says  he. 

"  It's  jokin'  you  are,"  says  Terence,  turnin'  mighty 
pale  ;  "  how  can  an  ould  gandher  be  my  father  ?  " 
says  he. 

"  I'm  not  funnin'  you  at  all,"  says  Jer,  "  it's  thrue 
what  I  tell  you — it's  your  father's  wandherin'  sowl," 
says  he,  "  that's  naturally  tuk  pissession  iv  the  ould 
gandher's  body,"  says  he  ;  "  I  know  him  many  ways, 
and  I  wondher,"  says  he,  "  you  do  not  know  the  cock 
iv  his  eye  yourself,"  says  he. 

"  Oh  !  "  says  Terence,  "  what  will  I  ever  do,  at  all,  at 
all,"  says  he  ;  "  it's  all  over  wid  me,  for  I  plucked  him 
twelve  times  at  the  laste,"  says  he. 

"  That  can't  be  helped  now,"  says  Jer,  "  it  was  a 
sevare  act,  surely,"  says  he,  "  but  it's  too  late  to  lamint 
for  it  now,"  says  he  ;  "  the  only  way  to  prevint  what's 
past,"  says  he,  "  is  to  put  a  stop  to  it  before  it  happens," 
says  he. 

"  Thrue  for  you,"  says  Terence,  "  but  how  did  you 
come  to  the  knowledge  iv  my  father's  sowl,"  says  he, 
"  bein'  in  the  ould  gandher  ?  "  says  he. 


142  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  If  I  tould  you,"  says  Jer,  '  you  would  not  under- 
stand me,"  says  he,  "  without  book-larnin'  an'  gasth- 
ronomy,"  says  he  ;  "  so  ax  me  no  questions,"  says  he, 
"an  I'll  tell  you  no  lies  ;  but  b'lieve  me  in  this  much," 
says  he,  "  it's  your  father  that's  in  it,"  says  he,  "  an'  if 
I  don't  make  him  spake  to-morrow  mornin',"  says  he, 
"  I'll  give  you  lave  to  call  me  a  fool,"  says  he. 

"  Say  no  more,"  says  Terence,  "  that  settles  the 
business,"  says  he  ;  "  an'  oh  !  is  it  not  a  quare  thing," 
says  he,  "  for  a  dacent,  respictable  man,"  says  he,  "  to 
be  walkin'  about  the  counthry  in  the  shape  iv  an  ould 
gandher,"  says  he ;  "  and,  oh,  murdher,  murdher ! 
is  it  not  often  I  plucked  him,"  says  he,  "  an'  tundher 
and  turf,  might  not  I  have  ate  him,"  says  he  ;  and  wid 
that  he  fell  into  a  could  parspiration,  savin'  your  prisince, 
an'  was  on  the  pint  iv  faintin'  wid  the  bare  notions  iv  it. 

Well,  whin  he  was  come  to  himself  agin,  says  Jerry, 
to  him,  quite  an  aisy — "  Terence,"  says  he,  "  don't  be 
aggravatin*  yourself,"  says  he,  "  for  I  have  a  plan  com- 
posed that'll  make  him  spake  out,"  says  he,  "  an*  tell 
what  it  is  in  the  world  he's  wantin',"  says  he  ;  "  an' 
mind  an'  don't  be  comin'  in  wid  your  gosther  an'  to  say 
agin  anything  I  tell  you,"  says  he,  "  but  jist  purtind, 
as  soon  as  the  bird  is  brought  back,"  says  he,  "  how 
that  we're  goin'  to  sind  him  to-morrow  mornin'  to 
market,"  says  he  ;  "  an'  if  he  don't  spake  to-night," 
says  he, "  or  gother  himself  out  iv  the  place,"  says  he, 
"  put  him  into  the  hamper  airly,  and  sind  him  in  the  cart," 
says  he,  "  straight  to  Tipperary,  to  be  sould  for  aitin'," 
says  he,  "  along  wid  the  two  gossoons,"  says  he  ;  "  an' 
my  name  isn't  Jer  Garvan,"  says  he,  "  if  he  doesn't 
spake  out  before  he's  half  way,"  says  he  ;  "  an'  mind," 
says  he,  "  as  soon  as  ever  he  says  the  first  word,"  says  he, 


THE   QUARE   GANDER.  143 

4  that  very  minute  bring  him  off  to  Father  Grotty,' 
says  he,  "  an'  if  his  Raverance  doesn't  make  him  ratire," 
says  he,  "  into  the  flames  of  Purgathory,"  says  he, 
"  there's  no  vartue  in  my  charms,"  says  he. 

Well,  wid  that  the  ould  gandher  was  let  into  the  room 
agin,  an'  they  all  begined  to  talk  iv  sindin'  him  the  nixt 
mornin'  to  be  sould  for  roastin'  in  Tipperary,  jist  as 
if  it  was  a  thing  andoubtingly  settled  ;  but  not  a  notice 
the  gandher  tuk,  no  more  nor  if  they  wor  spaking  iv 
the  Lord  Liftenant ;  an'  Terence  desired  the  boy 
to  get  ready  the  kish  for  the  poulthry  "  an'  to  settle  it 
out  wid  hay  soft  and  shnug,"  says  he,  "  for  it's  the  last 
jauntin'  the  poor  ould  gandher  'ill  get  in  this  world," 
says  he. 

Well,  as  the  night  was  getting  late,  Terence  was 
growin'  mighty  sorrowful  an'  down-hearted  in  himself 
entirely  wid  the  notions  iv  what  was  going  to  happen. 
An'  as  soon  as  the  wife  an'  the  crathurs  war  fairly  in 
bed,  he  brought  out  some  illigant  potteen,  an'  himself 
and  Jer  Garvan  sot  down  to  it,  an'  the  more  anasy 
Terence  got,  the  more  he  dhrank,  and  himself  and  Jer 
Garvan  finished  a  quart  betune  them  :  it  wasn't  an 
imparial  though,  an'  more's  the  pity,  for  them  wasn't 
anvinted  antil  short  since  ;  but  sorra  a  much  matther 
it  signifies  any  longer  if  a  pint  could  hould  two  quarts, 
let  alone  what  it  does,  sinst  Father  Mathew  begin 'd 
to  give  the  pledge,  an'  wid  the  blessin'  iv  timperance 
to  deginerate  Ireland.  An'  sure  I  have  the  medle 
myself  ;  an'  it's  proud  I  am  iv  that  same,  for  abstamious- 
ness  is  a  fine  thing,  although  it's  mighty  dhry. 

Well,  whin  Terence  finished  his  pint,  he  thought  he 
might  as  well  stop,  "  for  enough  is  as  good  as  a  faste," 
says  he,  "  an'  I  pity  the  vagabone,"  says  he,  "  that  is 


144  HUMOURS   OF  IRISH   LIFE. 

not  able  to  conthroul  his  liquor,"  says  he,  "  an'  to  keep 
constantly  inside  iv  a  pint  measure,"  says  he,  an'  wid 
that  he  wished  Jer  Garvan  a  good  night,  an'  walked  out 
iv  the  room.  But  he  wint  out  the  wrong  door,  being 
a  trifle  hearty  in  himself,  an'  not  rightly  knowin'  whether 
he  was  standin'  on  his  head  or  his  heels,  or  both  iv  them 
at  the  same  time,  an'  in  place  iv  gettin'  into  bed,  where 
did  he  thrun  himself  but  into  the  poulthry  hamper, 
that  the  boys  had  settled  out  ready  for  the  gandher 
in  the  mornin'  ;  an',  sure  enough,  he  sunk  down  snug 
an*  complate  through  the  hay  to  the  bottom  ;  an'  wid 
the  turnin'  an'  roulin'  about  in  the  night,  not  a  bit  iv 
him  but  was  covered  up  as  snug  as  a  lumper  in  a  pittaty 
furrow  before  mornin'. 

So  wid  the  first  light,  up  gets  the  two  boys  that  war 
to  take  the  sperit,  as  they  consaved,  to  Tipperary  ; 
an'  they  cotched  the  ould  gandher,  an'  put  him  in  the 
hamper  and  clapped  a  good  whisp  iv  hay  on  the  top 
iv  him,  and  tied  it  down  sthrong  wid  a  bit  iv  a  coard, 
an  med  the  sign  iv  the  crass  over  him,  in  dhread  iv  any 
harum,  an'  put  the  hamper  up  on  the  car,  wontherin' 
all  the  while  what  in  the  world  was  makin'  the  ould 
burd  so  surprisin'  heavy. 

Well,  they  wint  along  on  the  road  towards  Tipperary, 
wishin'  every  minute  that  some  iv  the  neighbours  bound 
the  same  way  id  happen  to  fall  in  with  them,  for  they 
didn't  half  like  the  notions  iv  havin'  no  company  but  the 
bewitched  gandher,  an'  small  blame  to  them  for  that 
same.  But,  although  they  wor  shakin'  in  their  skins  in 
dhread  iv  the  ould  bird  beginin'  to  convarse  them  every 
minute,  they  did  not  let  on  to  one  another,  bud  kep' 
singin'  and  whistlin',  like  mad.  to  keep  the  dhread 
out  iv  their  hearts.  Well,  afther  they  wor  on  the  road 


THE  QUARE  GANDER.  145 

betther  nor  half  an  hour,  they  kem  to  the  bad  bit  close 
by  Father  Crotty's,  an'  there  was  one  rut  three  feet 
deep  at  the  laste  ;  an'  the  car  got  sich  a  wondherful 
chuck  goin'  through  it,  that  wakened  Terence  within 
the  basket. 

"  Oh  !  "  says  he,  "  my  bones  is  bruck  wid  yer  thricks, 
what  are  ye  doin'  wid  me  ?  " 

"  Did  ye  hear  anything  quare,  Thady  ?  "  says  the 
boy  that  was  next  to  the  car,  turnin'  as  white  as  the 
top  iv  a  musharoon  ;  "  did  ye  hear  anything  quare 
soundin'  out  iv  the  hamper  ?  "  says  he. 

"  No,  nor  you,"  says  Thady,  turnin'  as  pale  as  himself, 
"  it's  the  ould  gandher  that's  gruntin'  wid  the  shakin' 
he's  gettin',"  says  he. 

"  Where  have  ye  put  me  into,"  says  Terence,  inside  ; 
"  let  me  out,"  says  he,  "  or  I'll  be  smothered  this 
minute,"  says  he. 

"  There's  no  use  in  purtending,"  says  the  boy  ;  "  the 
gandher's  spakin',  glory  be  to  God  !  "  says  he. 

"  Let  me  out,  you  murdherers,"  says  Terence. 

"In  the  name  iv  all  the  holy  saints,"  says  Thady, 
"  hould  yer  tongue,  you  unnatheral  gandher,"  says  he. 

"  Who's  that,  that  dar  call  me  nicknames,"  says 
Terence  inside,  roaring  wid  the  fair  passion  ;  "  let  me 
out,  you  blasphamious  infiddles,"  says  he,  "  or  by  this 
crass,  I'll  stretch  ye,"  says  he. 

"  Who  are  ye  ?  "  says  Thady. 

"  Who  would  I  be  but  Terence  Mooney,"  says  he, 
"  It's  myself  that's  in  it,  you  unmerciful  bliggards," 
says  he  ;  "  let  me  out,  or  I'll  get  out  in  spite  iv  yez," 
says  he,  "  an'  I'll  wallop  yez  in  arnest,"  says  he. 

"  It's  ould  Terence,  sure  enough,"  says  Thady  ; 
"  isn't  it  cute  the  fairy  docthor  found  him  out,"  says  he. 

"  I'm  on  the  p'int  iv  suffication,  "  says  Terence  ; 

L 


146  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  let  me  out,  I  tell  ye,  an'  wait  till  I  get  at  ye,"  says  he, 
"  for  sorra  a  bone  in  your  body  but  I'll  powdher,"  says 
he  ;  an'  wid  that  he  bigined  kickin'  and  flingin'  in  the 
hamper,  and  drivin'  his  legs  agin  the  sides  iv  it,  that  it 
was  a  wondher  he  did  not  knock  it  to  pieces.  Well,  as 
the  boys  seen  that,  they  skelped  the  ould  horse  into 
a  gallop  as  hard  as  he  could  peg  towards  the  priest's 
house,  through  the  ruts,  an'  over  the  stones  ;  an'  you'd 
see  the  hamper  fairly  flyin'  three  feet  in  the  air  with  the 
joultin'  ;  so  it  was  small  wondher,  by  the  time  they  got 
to  his  Raverance's  door,  the  breath  was  fairly  knocked 
out  iv  poor  Terence  ;  so  that  he  was  lyin'  speechless 
in  the  bottom  iv  the  hamper.  Well,  whin  his  Raverance 
kem  down,  they  up  an'  they  tould  him  all  that  happened, 
an'  how  they  put  the  gandher  into  the  hamper,  an' 
how  he  begined  to  spake,  an'  how  he  confissed  that  he 
was  ould  Terence  Mooney  ;  and  they  axed  his  honour 
to  advise  them  how  to  get  rid  iv  the  sperit  for  good  an' 
all.  So  says  his  Raverance,  says  he  : 

"  I'll  take  my  booke,"  says  he,  "  an'  I'll  read  some  rale 
sthrong  holy  bits  out  iv  it,"  says  he,  "  an*  do  you  get  a 
rope  and  put  it  round  the  hamper,"  says  he,  "  an'  let  it 
swing  over  the  runnin'  wather  at  the  bridge,"  says  he, 
"  an'  it's  no  matther  if  I  don't  make  the  sperit  come  out 
iv  it,"  says  he. 

Well,  wid  that,  the  priest  got  his  horse,  an'  tuk  his 
booke  in  undher  his  arum,  an'  the  boys  follied  his 
Raverance,  ladin'  the  horse,  and  Terence  houldin'  his 
whisht,  for  he  seen  it  was  no  use  spakin',  an'  he  was 
afeard  if  he  med  any  noise  they  might  thrait  him  to 
another  gallop  an'  finish  him  intirely.  Well,  as  soon 
as  they  wur  all  come  to  the  bridge  the  boys  tuk  the 
rope  they  had  with  them,  an'  med  it  fast  to  the  top  iv 
the  hamper  an'  swung  it  fairly  over  the  bridge  ;  lettin' 


THE   QUARE   GANDER.  147 

it  hang  in  the  air  about  twelve  feet  out  iv  the  wather  ; 
and  his  Raverance  rode  down  to  the  bank  iv  the  river, 
close  by,  an'  begined  to  read  mighty  loud  and  bould 
intirely. 

An'  when  he  was  goin'  on  about  five  minutes,  all  at 
onst  the  bottom  iv  the  hamper  kem  out,  an'  down  wint 
Terence,  falling  splash  dash  into  the  wather,  an'  the  ould 
gandher  a-top  iv  him  ;  down  they  both  wint  to  the 
bottom  wid  a  souse  you'd  hear  half-a-mile  off ;  an' 
before  they  had  time  to  rise  agin,  his  Raverance,  wid  a 
fair  astonishment,  giv  his  horse  one  dig  iv  the  spurs, 
an'  before  he  knew  where  he  was,  in  he  went,  horse  and 
all,  a-top  iv  them,  an'  down  to  the  bottom.  Up  they  all 
kem  agin  together,  gaspin'  an  puffin',  an'  off  down 
the  current  with  them  like  shot,  in  undher  the  arch  iv  the 
bridge,  till  they  kem  to  the  shallow  wather.  The  ould 
gandher  was  the  first  out,  an'  the  priest  and  Terence 
kem  next,  pantin'  an'  blowin'  an*  more  than  half 
dhrounded  :  an'  his  Raverance  was  so  freckened  wid 
the  dhroundin'  he  got,  and  wid  the  sight  iv  the  sperit, 
as  he  consaved,  that  he  wasn't  the  better  iv  it  for  a 
month.  An'  as  soon  as  Terence  could  spake,  he  said 
he'd  have  the  life  iv  the  two  gossoons  ;  but  Father  Crotty 
would  not  give  him  his  will  ;  an'  as  soon  as  he  got 
quieter  they  all  endeavoured  to  explain  it,  but  Terence 
consayved  he  went  raly  to  bed  the  night  before,  an'  his 
Raverance  said  it  was  a  mysthery,  an'  swore  if  he  cotched 
anyone  laughin'  at  the  accident,  he'd  lay  the  horsewhip 
across  their  shoulders  ;  an'  Terence  grew  fonder  an' 
fonder  iv  the  gandher  every  day,  until  at  last  he  died 
in  a  wondherful  ould  age,  lavin'  the  gandher  afther 
him  an'  a  large  family  iv  childer  ;  an'  to  this  day  the  farm 
is  rinted  by  one  iv  Terence  Mooney's  lineal  legitimate 
postariors. 


148  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

The  Thrush  and  the  Blackbird. 

BY  CHARLES  JOSEPH  KICKHAM  (1828-1882). 

A  STRANGER  meeting  Sally  Cavanagh,  as  she  tripped 
along  the  mountain  road,  would  consider  her  a  contented 
and  happy  young  matron,  and  might  be  inclined  to  set 
her  down  as  a  proud  one  ;  for  Sally  Cavanagh  held  her 
head  rather  high,  and  occasionally  elevated  it  still 
higher  with  a  toss  which  had  something  decidedly 
haughty  about  it.  She  turned  up  a  short  boreen  for 
the  purpose  of  calling  upon  the  gruff  blacksmith's 
wife,  who  had  been  very  useful  to  her  for  some  time 
before.  The  smith's  habits  were  so  irregular  that  his 
wife  was  often  obliged  to  visit  the  pawn  office  in  the  next 
town,  and  poor  Sally  Cavanagh  availed  herself  of  Nancy 
Ryan's  experience  in  pledging  almost  everything  pledge- 
able  she  possessed.  The  new  cloak,  of  which  even  a 
rich  farmer's  wife  might  feel  proud,  was  the  last  thing 
left.  It  was  a  present  from  Connor,  and  was  only  worn 
on  rare  occasions,  and  to  part  with  it  was  a  sore  trial. 

Loud  screams  and  cries  for  help  made  Sally  Cavanagh 
start.  She  stopped  for  a  moment,  and  then  ran  forward 
and  rushed  breathless  into  the  smith's  house.  The 
first  sight  that  met  her  eyes  was  our  friend  Shawn  Gow 
choking  his  wife.  A  heavy  three-legged  stool  came 
down  with  such  force  upon  the  part  of  Shawn  Gow's 
person  which  happened  to  be  the  most  elevated  as  he 
bent  over  the  prostrate  woman,  that,  uttering  an  excla- 
mation between  a  grunt  and  a  growl,  he  bounded  into  the 
air,  and,  striking  his  shins  against  a  chair,  tumbled 


THE  THRUSH  AND  THE  BLACKBIRD.        149 

head  over  heels  into  the  corner.  When  Shawn  found 
that  he  was  more  frightened  than  hurt,  and  saw  Sally 
with  the  three-legged  stool  in  her  hand,  a  sense  of  the 
ludicrous  overcame  him,  and,  turning  his  face  to  the  wall, 
he  relieved  his  feelings  by  giving  way  to  a  fit  of  laughter. 
It  was  of  the  silent,  inward  sort,  however,  and  neither 
his  wife  nor  Sally  Cavanagh  had  any  notion  of  the 
pleasant  mood  he  was  in.  The  bright  idea  of  pretending 
to  be  "  kilt  "  occurred  to  the  overthrown  son  of  Vulcan, 
and  with  a  fearful  groan  he  stretched  out  his  huge  limbs 
and  remained  motionless  on  the  broad  of  his  back. 

Sally's  sympathy  for  the  ill-used  woman  prevented 
her  from  giving  a  thought  to  her  husband.  Great  was 
her  astonishment  then  when  Nancy  flew  at  her  like  a 
wild  cat.  "  You  kilt  my  husband,"  she  screamed. 
Sally  retreated  backwards,  defending  herself  as  best 
she  could  with  the  stool.  "  For  God's  sake,  Nancy, 
be  quiet.  Wouldn't  he  have  destroyed  you  on'y  for 
me  ?  "  But  Nancy  followed  up  the  attack  like  a  fury. 
"  There's  nothing  the  matter  with  him,"  Sally  cried 
out,  on  finding  herself  literally  driven  to  the  wall. 
"  What  harm  could  a  little  touch  of  a  stool  on  the  back 
do  the  big  brute  ?  " 

Nancy's  feelings  appeared  to  rush  suddenly  into 
another  channel,  for  she  turned  round  quickly,  and 
kneeling  down  by  her  husband,  lifted  up  his  head. 
"  Och  I  Shawn,  avourneen,  machree"  she  exclaimed, 
"  won't  you  spake  to  me  ? "  Shawn  condescended 
to  open  his  eyes.  "  Sally,"  she  continued,  "  he's 
comin'  to — glory  be  to  God  !  Hurry  over  and  hould 
up  his  head  while  I'm  runnin'  for  somethin'  to  rewive 
him.  Or  stay,  bring  me  the  boulster." 

The  bolster  was  brought,  and  Nancy  placed  it  under  the 


150  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

patient's  head  ;  then,  snatching  her  shawl  from  the 
peg  where  it  hung,  she  disappeared.  She  was  back 
again  in  five  minutes,  without  the  shawl,  but  with  half- 
a-pint  of  whiskey  in  a  bottle. 

"  Take  a  taste  av  this,  Shawn,  an'  'twill  warm  your 
heart." 

Shawn  Gow  sat  up  and  took  the  bottle  in  his  hand. 

"  Nancy,"  says  he,  "  I  believe,  afther  all,  you're 
fond  o'  me." 

"  Wisha,  Shawn,  achora,  what  else'd  I  be  but  fond 
av  you  ?  " 

"  I  thought,  Nancy,  you  couldn't  care  for  a  divil  that 
thrated  you  so  bad." 

"  Och,  Shawn,  Shawn,  don't  talk  that  way  to  me. 
Sure,  I  thought  my  heart  was  broke  when  I  see  you 
sthretched  there  'idout  a  stir  in  you." 

"  An'  you  left  your  shawl  in  pledge  again  to  get  this 
for  me  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  did  ;  an'  a  good  right  I  had  ;  an'  sorry 
I'd  be  to  see  you  in  want  of  a  dhrop  of  nourishment." 

"  I  was  a  baste,  Nancy.  But  if  I  was,  this  is  what 
made  a  baste  av  me." 

And  Shawn  Gow  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  bottle  with 
a  look  in  which  hatred  and  fascination  were  strangely 
blended.  He  turned  quickly  to  his  wife. 

"  Will  you  give  in  it  was  a  blackbird  ?  "  he  said. 

"  A  blackbird,"  she  repeated,  irresolutely. 

"  Yes,  a  blackbird.  Will  you  give  in  it  was  a  black- 
bird ?  " 

Shawn  Gow  was  evidently  relapsing  into  his  savage 
mood. 

"  Well,"  said  his  wife,  after  some  hesitation,  "  'twas  a 
blackbird.  Will  that  plase  you  ?  " 


THE  THRUSH  AND  THE  BLACKBIRD,        151 

"  An'  you'll  never  say  'twas  a  thrish  agin  ?  " 

"  Never.  An'  sure,  on'y  for  the  speckles  on  the 
breast,  I'd  never  say  'twas  a  thrish  ;  but  sure,  you  ought 
to  know  betther  than  me — an* — an' — 'twas  a  blackbird," 
she  exclaimed,  with  a  desperate  effort. 

Shawn  Gow  swung  the  bottle  round  his  head  and  flung 
it  with  all  his  strength  against  the  hob.  The  whole 
fireplace  was  for  a  moment  one  blaze  of  light. 

"  The  Divil  was  in  id,"  says  the  smith,  smiling 
grimly  ;  "  an'  there  he's  off  in  a  flash  of  fire.  I'm  done 
wid  him,  any  way." 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  a  happy  Christmas,  Nancy,"  said 
Sally. 

"  I  wish  you  the  same,  Sally,  an'  a  great  many  av 
'em.  I  suppose  you're  goin'  to  first  Mass  ?  Shawn 
and  me '11  wait  for  second." 

Sally  took  her  leave  of  this  remarkable  couple,  and 
proceeded  on  her  way  to  the  village.  She  met 
Tim  Croak  and  his  wife,  Betty,  who  were  also 
going  to  Mass.  After  the  usual  interchange  of  greetings, 
Betty  surveyed  Sally  from  head  to  foot  with  a  look  of 
delighted  wonder. 

"  Look  at  her,  Tim,"  she  exclaimed,  "  an'  isn't  she 
as  young  an'  as  hearty  as  ever  ?  Bad  cess  to  me  but 
you're  the  same  Sally  that  danced  wid  the  master  at  my 
weddin',  next  Thursday  fortnight'll  be  eleven  years." 

"  Begob,  you're  a  great  woman,"  says  Tim. 

Sally  Cavanagh  changed  the  subject  by  describing 
the  scene  she  had  witnessed  at  the  blacksmith's. 

"  But,  Tim,"  said  she,  after  finishing  the  story,  "  how 
did  the  dispute  about  the  blackbird  come  first  ?  I 
heard  something  about  it,  but  I  forget  it." 


152  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  I'll  tell  you  that,  then,"  said  Tim  "  Begob,  ay," 
he  exclaimed  abruptly,  after  thinking  for  a  moment ; 
"  'twas  this  day  seven  years,  for  all  the  world — the  year  o' 
the  hard  frost.  Shawn  Gow  set  a  crib  in  his  haggard 
the  evenin'  afore,  and  when  he  went  out  in  the  mornin' 
he  had  a  hen  blackbird.  He  put  the  goulogue*  on  her 
nick,  and  tuk  her  in  his  hand  ;  and  wud'  one  smulluck 
av  his  finger  knocked  the  life  out  av  her  ;  he  walked 
in  an'  threw  the  blackbird  on  the  table. 

"  '  Oh,  Shawn,'  siz  Nancy,  '  you're  afther  ketchin' 
a  fine  thrish.'  Nancy  tuk  the  bird  in  her  hand  an* 
began  rubbin'  the  feathers  on  her  breast.  '  A  fine 
thrish,'  siz  Nancy, 

"  '  Tisn't  a  thrish,  but  a  blackbird,'  siz  Shawn. 

"  '  Wisha,  in  throth,  Shawn,'  siz  Nancy, '  'tis  a  thrish  ; 
do  you  want  to  take  the  sight  o'  my  eyes  from  me  ? ' 

"  '  I  tell  you  'tis  a  blackbird,"  siz  he. 

"  '  Indeed,  then,  it  isn't,  but  a  thrish,'  siz  she. 

"  Anyway,  one  word  borrowed  another,  an'  the  end 
av  it  was,  Shawn  flailed  at  her  an'  gev  her  the  father 
av  a  batin'. 

"  The  Christmas  Day  afther,  Nancy  opened  the 
door  an'  looked  out. 

"  '  God  be  wud  this  day  twelve  months,'  siz  she,  4  do 
you  remimber  the  fine  thrish  you  caught  in  the  crib  ?  ' 

"  '  'Twas  a  blackbird,'  siz  Shawn. 

"  '  Och,'  siz  Nancy,  beginnin'  to  laugh,  '  that  was  a 
quare  blackbird.' 

"  '  Whisht,  now,  Nancy,  'twas  a  blackbird,'  siz  Shawn. 

"  *  Och,'  siz  Nancy,  beginnin'  to  laugh,  '  that  was  the 
quare  blackbird.' 

*  A  forked  stick 


THE  THRUSH  AND  THE  BLACKBIRD.        153 

"  Wud  that,  one  word  borrowed  another,  an'  Shawn 
stood  up  an'  gev  her  the  father  av  a  batin.' 

"  The  third  Christmas  Day  kem,  an'  they  wor  in  the 
best  o'  good  humour  afther  the  tay,  an'  Shawn,  puttin' 
on  his  ridin'-coat  to  go  to  Mass. 

'  Well,  Shawn,'  siz  Nancy,  I'm  thinkin'  av  what  an 
unhappy  Christmas  mornin'  we  had  this  day  twelve 
months,  all  on  account  of  the  thrish  you  caught  in  the 
crib,  bad  cess  to  her.' 

"  '  'Twas  a  blackbird,'  siz  Shawn. 

'  Wisha,  good  luck  to  you,  an'  don't  be  talkin' 
foolish,'  siz  Nancy  ;  '  an'  you're  betther  not  get  into  a 
passion  agin,  on  account  av  an  ould  thrish.  My  heavy 
curse  on  the  same  thrish,'  siz  Nancy. 

"  '  I  tell  you  'twas  a  blackbird,  siz  Shawn. 

' '  An'  I  tell  you  'twas  a  thrish,'  siz  Nancy. 

'  Wud  that,  Shawn  took  a  bunnaun  he  had  saisonin' 
in  the  chimley,  and  whaled  at  Nancy,  an'  gev  her  the 
father  av  a  batin'.  An'  every  Christmas  morning  from 
that  day  to  this  'twas  the  same  story,  for  as  sure  as  the  sun, 
Nancy 'd  draw  down  the  thrish.  But  do  you  tell  me, 
Sally,  she's  afther  givin'  in  it  was  a  blackbird  ?  " 

"  She  is,"  replied  Sally. 

"  Begob,"  said  Tim  Croak,  after  a  minute's  serious 
reflection,  "  it  ought  to  be  put  in  the  papers.  I  never 
h'ard  afore  av  a  wrong  notion  bein'  got  out  av  a  woman's 
head.  But  Shawn  Gow  is  no  joke  to  dale  wud,  and  it 
took  him  seven  years  to  do  id." 


154  HUMOURS  OF  IRISH   LIFE. 

Their   Last   Race. 

From  "  At  the  Rising  of  the  Moon." 
BY  FRANK  MATHEW  (1865 — ). 

i. — THE  FACTION  FIGHT. 

IN  the  heart  of  the  Connemara  Highlands,  Carrala 
Valley  hides  in  a  triangle  of  mountains.  Carrala  Village 
lies  in  the  corner  of  it  towards  Loch  Ina,  and  Aughavanna 
in  the  corner  nearest  Kylemore.  Aughavanna  is  a  wreck 
now  :  if  you  were  to  look  for  it  you  would  see  only  a 
cluster  of  walls  grown  over  by  ferns  and  nettles  ;  but 
in  those  remote  times,  before  the  Great  Famine,  when  no 
English  was  spoken  in  the  Valley,  there  was  no  place 
more  renowned  for  wild  fun  and  fighting  ;  and  when  its 
men  were  to  be  at  a  fair,  every  able-bodied  man  in  the 
countryside  took  his  kippeen — his  cudgel — from  its 
place  in  the  chimney,  and  went  out  to  do  battle  with 
a  good  heart. 

Long  Mat  Murnane  was  the  king  of  Aughavanna. 
There  was  no  grander  sight  than  Mat  smashing  his  way 
through  a  forest  of  kippeens,  with  his  enemies  staggering 
back  to  the  right  and  left  of  him  ;  there  was  no  sweeter 
sound  than  his  voice,  clear  as  a  bell,  full  of  triumph 
and  gladness,  shouting,  "  Hurroo  !  whoop  !  Aughavanna 
for  ever !  "  Where  his  kippeen  flickered  in  the  air 
his  followers  charged  after,  and  the  enemy  rushed  to  meet 
him,  for  it  was  an  honour  to  take  a  broken  head  from  him. 

But  Carrala  Fair  was  the  black  day  for  him.  That 
day  Carrala  swarmed  with  men — fishers  from  the  near 
coast,  dwellers  in  lonely  huts  by  the  black  lakes,  or 
in  tiny,  ragged  villages  under  the  shadow  of  the 
mountains,  or  in  cabins  on  the  hill-sides — every  little 


THEIR  LAST  RACE.  155 

town  for  miles,  by  river  or  sea-shore  or  mountain  built, 
was  emptied.  The  fame  of  the  Aughavanna  men  was 
their  ruin,  for  they  were  known  to  fight  so  well  that  every 
one  was  dying  to  fight  them.  The  Joyces  sided  against 
them  ;  Black  Michael  Joyce  had  a  farm  in  the  third 
corner  of  the  valley,  just  where  the  road  through  the 
bog  from  Aughavanna  (the  road  with  the  cross  by  it) 
meets  the  high-road  to  Leenane,  so  his  kin  mustered 
in  force.  Now  Black  Michael,  "  Meehul  Dhu,"  was  long 
Mat's  rival  ;  though  smaller,  he  was  near  as  deadly 
in  fight,  and  in  dancing  no  man  could  touch  him,  for 
it  was  said  he  could  jump  a  yard  into  the  air  and  kick 
himself  behind  with  his  heels  in  doing  it. 

The  business  of  the  Fair  had  been  hurried  so  as  to 
leave  the  more  time  for  pleasure,  and  by  five  of  the 
afternoon  every  man  was  mad  for  the  battle.  Why,  you 
could  scarcely  have  moved  in  Callanan's  Field  out 
beyond  the  churchyard  at  the  end  of  the  village,  it  was 
so  packed  with  men — more  than  five  hundred  were  there, 
and  you  could  not  have  heard  yourself  speak,  for  they 
were  jumping  and  dancing,  tossing  their  caubeens, 
and  shouting  themselves  hoarse  and  deaf — "  Hurroo 
for  Carrala  !  "  "  Whoop  for  Aughavanna  !  " 

Around  them  a  mob  of  women,  old  men  and  children, 
looked  on  breathlessly.  It  was  dull  weather,  and  the 
mists  had  crept  half  way  down  the  dark  mountain 
walls,  as  if  to  have  a  nearer  look  at  the  fight. 

As  the  chapel  clock  struck  five,  Long  Mat  Murnane 
gave  the  signal.  Down  the  village  he  came,  rejoicing 
in  his  strength,  out  between  the  two  last  houses,  past  the 
churchyard  and  into  Callanan's  Field  ;  he  looked  every 
inch  a  king  ;  his  kippeen  was  ready,  his  frieze  coat  was 
off,  with  his  left  hand  he  trailed  it  behind  him  holding 


156  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

it  by  the  sleeve,  while  with  a  great  voice  he  shouted — 
in  Irish — "  Where's  the  Carrala  man  that  dare  touch 
my  coat  ?  Where's  the  cowardly  scoundrel  that  dare 
look  crooked  at  it  ?  " 

In  a  moment  Black  Michael  Joyce  was  trailing  his 
own  coat  behind  him,  and  rushed  forward,  with  a  mighty 
cry  "  Where's  the  face  of  a  crembling  Aughavanna 
man  ? "  In  a  moment  their  kippeens  clashed  ;  in 
another,  hundreds  of  kippeens  crashed  together,  and  the 
grandest  fight  ever  fought  in  Connemara  raged  over 
Callanan's  Field.  After  the  first  roar  of  defiance  the 
men  had  to  keep  their  breath  for  the  hitting,  so  the  shout 
of  triumph  and  the  groan  as  one  fell  were  the  only  sounds 
that  broke  the  music  of  the  kippeens  clashing  and 
clicking  on  one  another,  or  striking  home  with  a  thud. 

Never  was  Long  Mat  nobler  ;  he  rushed  ravaging 
through  the  enemy,  shattering  their  ranks  and  their 
heads  ;  no  man  could  withstand  him  ;  Red  Callanan  of 
Carrala  went  down  before  him  ;  he  knocked  the  five 
senses  out  of  Dan  O'Shaughran,  of  Earrennamore, 
that  herded  many  pigs  by  the  sedgy  banks  of  the  Owen 
Erriff ;  he  hollowed  the  left  eye  out  of  Larry  Mulcahy, 
that  lived  on  the  Devil's  Mother  Mountain — never 
again  did  Larry  set  the  two  eyes  of  him  on  his  high 
mountain-cradle  ;  he  killed  Black  Michael  Joyce  by 
a  beautiful  swooping  blow  on  the  side  of  the  head — 
who  would  have  dreamt  that  Black  Michael  had  so 
thin  a  skull. 

For  near  an  hour  Mat  triumphed,  then  suddenly  he 
went  down  under  foot.  At  first  he  was  missed  only 
by  those  nearest  him,  and  they  took  it  for  granted  that 
he  was  up  again  and  fighting.  But  when  the  Aughavanna 
men  found  themselves  outnumbered  and  driven  back 


THEIR  LAST  RACE.  157 

to  the  village,  a  great  fear  came  on  them,  for  they  knew 
that  all  Ireland  could  not  outnumber  them  if  Mat  was 
to  the  fore.  Then  disaster  and  rout  took  them,  and  they 
were  forced  backwards  up  the  street,  struggling 
desperately,  till  hardly  a  man  of  them  could  stand. 

And  when  the  victors  were  shouting  themselves 
dumb,  and  drinking  themselves  blind,  the  beaten  men 
looked  for  their  leader.  Long  Mat  was  prone,  his  fore- 
head was  smashed,  his  face  had  been  trampled  into  the 
mud — he  had  done  with  fighting.  His  death  was 
untimely,  yet  he  fell  as  he  would  have  chosen — in  a 
friendly  battle.  For  when  a  man  falls  under  the  hand 
of  an  enemy  (as  of  any  one  who  differs  from  him 
in  creed  or  politics)  revenge  and  black  blood  live  after 
him  ;  but  he  who  takes  his  death  from  the  kindly  hand 
of  a  friend  leaves  behind  him  no  ill-will,  but  only  gentle 
regret  for  the  mishap. 

II.  THEIR  LAST  RACE. 

When  the  dead  had  been  duly  waked  for  two  days 
and  nights,  the  burying  day  came.  All  the  morning 
long  Mat  Murnane's  coffin  lay  on  four  chairs  by  his 
cabin,  with  a  kneeling  ring  of  dishevelled  women  keening 
round  it.  Every  soul  in  Aughavanna  and  their  kith 
and  kin  had  gathered  to  do  him  honour.  And  when 
the  Angelus  bell  rang  across  the  valley  from  the  chapel, 
the  mourners  fell  into  ranks,  the  coffin  was  lifted  on  the 
rough  hearse,  and  the  motley  funeral — a  line  of  carts 
with  a  mob  of  peasants  behind,  a  few  riding,  but  most 
of  them  on  foot — moved  slowly  towards  Carrala.  The 
women  were  crying  bitterly,  keening  like  an  Atlantic 
gale  ;  the  men  looked  as  sober  as  if  they  had  never 
heard  of  a  wake,  and  spoke  sadly  of  the  dead  man,  and 
of  what  a  pity  it  was  that  he  could  not  see  his  funeral. 


158  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

The  Joyces,  too,  had  waited,  as  was  the  custom,  for 
the  Angelus  bell,  and  now  Black  Michael's  funeral 
was  moving  slowly  towards  Carrala  along  the  other  side 
of  the  bog.  Before  long  either  party  could  hear  the 
keening  of  the  other,  for  you  know  the  roads  grow 
nearer  as  they  converge  on  Carrala.  Before  long  either 
party  began  to  fear  that  the  other  would  be  there  first. 

There  is  no  knowing  how  it  happened,  but  the  funerals 
began  to  go  quicker,  keeping  abreast ;  then  still  quicker, 
till  the  women  had  to  break  into  a  trot  to  keep  up  ; 
then  still  quicker,  till  the  donkeys  were  galloping,  and 
till  everyone  raced  at  full  speed,  and  the  rival  parties 
broke  into  a  wild  shout  of  "Aughavanna  abu  !  "  "  Meehul 
Dhu  for  ever  !  " 

For  the  dead  men  were  racing — feet  foremost — 
to  the  grave  ;  they  were  rivals  even  in  death.  Never 
did  the  world  see  such  a  race,  nevei  was  there  such 
whooping  and  shouting.  Where  the  roads  met  in 
Callanan's  Field  the  horses  were  abreast  ;  neck  and  neck 
they  dashed  across  the  trampled  fighting-place,  while 
the  coffins  jogged  and  jolted  as  if  the  two  dead  men  were 
struggling  to  get  out  and  lead  the  rush  ;  neck  to  neck 
they  reached  the  churchyard,  and  the  horses  jammed 
in  the  gate.  Behind  them  the  carts  crashed  into  one 
another,  and  the  mourners  shouted  as  if  they  were  mad. 

But  the  quick  wit  of  the  Aughavanna  men  triumphed, 
for  they  seized  their  long  coffin  and  dragged  it  in,  and 
Long  Mat  Murnane  won  his  last  race.  The  shout 
they  gave  then  deafened  the  echo  up  in  the  mountains, 
so  that  it  has  never  been  the  same  since.  The  victors 
wrung  one  another's  hands  ;  they  hugged  one  another. 

"  Himself  would  be  proud,"  they  cried,  "  if  he  hadn't 
been  dead  !  " 


THE  FIRST  LORD   LIFTINANT.  159 


The   First  Lord   Liftinant. 

BY  WILLIAM  PERCY  FRENCH  (1854—). 
(As  RELATED  BY  ANDREW  GERAGHTY,  PHILOMATH.) 

"  ESSEX,"  said  Queen  Elizabeth,  as  the  two  of  them  sat 
at  breakwhist  in  the  back  parlour  of  Buckingham 
Palace,  "  Essex,  me  haro,  I've  got  a  job  that  I  think  would 
suit  you.  Do  you  know  where  Ireland  is  ?  " 

"  I'm  no  great  fist  at  jografy,"  says  his  lordship, 
"  but  I  know  the  place  you  mane.  Population,  three 
millions  ;  exports,  emigrants." 

"  Well,"  says  the  Queen,  "  I've  been  reading  the 
Dublin  Evening  Mail  and  the  Telegraft  for  some  time 
back,  and  sorra  one  o'  me  can  get  at  the  trooth  o'  how 
things  is  goin',  for  the  leadin'  articles  is  as  conthradictory 
as  if  they  wor  husband  and  wife." 

"  That's  the  way  wid  papers  all  the  world  over," 
says  Essex  ;  "  Columbus  told  me  it  was  the  same  in 
Amerikay,  when  he  was  there,  abusin'  and  conthra- 
dictin'  each  other  at  every  turn — it's  the  way  they  make 
their  livin'.  Thrubble  you  for  an  egg-spoon." 

"  It's  addled  they  have  me  betune  them,"  says  the 
Queen.  "  Not  a  know  I  know  what's  goin'  on.  So 
now,  what  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  run  over  to  Ireland, 
like  a  good  fella,  and  bring  me  word  how  matters  stand." 

"  Is  it  me  ?  "  says  Essex,  leppin'  up  off  his  chair. 
"  It's  not  in  airnest  ye  are,  ould  lady.  Sure  it's  the 
height  of  the  London  saison.  Every  one's  in  town, 
and  Shake's  new  fairy  piece,  '  The  Midsummer's  Night 
Mare,'  billed  for  next  week." 


l6o  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  You'll  go  when  ye're  tould,"  says  the  Queen,  fixin* 
him  with  her  eye,  "  if  you  know  which  side  yer  bread's 
buttered  on.  See  here,  now,"  says  she,  seein'  him 
chokin'  wid  vexation  and  a  slice  o'  corned  beef,  "  you 
ought  to  be  as  pleased  as  Punch  about  it,  for  you'll  be 
at  the  top  o'  the  walk  over  there  as  vice-regent  repre- 
sentin'  me." 

"  I  ought  to  have  a  title  or  two,"  says  Essex,  pluckin' 
up  a  bit.  "  His  Gloriosity  the  Great  Panjandhrum, 
or  the  like  o'  that." 

"  How  would  His  Excellency  the  Lord  Liftinant  of 
Ireland  sthrike  you  ?  "  says  Elizabeth. 

"  First  class,"  cries  Essex.  "  Couldn't  be  betther  ; 
it  doesn't  mean  much,  but  it's  allitherative,  and  will 
look  well  below  the  number  on  me  hall  door." 

Well,  boys,  it  didn't  take  him  long  to  pack  his  clothes 
and  start  away  for  the  Island  o'  Saints.  It  took  him  a 
good  while  to  get  there,  though,  through  not  knowin' 
the  road  ;  but  by  means  of  a  pocket  compass  and  a  tip 
to  the  steward,  he  was  landed  at  last  contagious  to 
Dalkey  Island.  Going  up  to  an  ou!d  man  who  was 
sittin'  on  a  rock,  he  took  off  his  hat,  and,  says  he — 

"  That's  great  weather  we're  havin'  ?  " 

"  Good  enough  for  the  times  that's  in  it,"  says  the  ould 
man,  cockin'  one  eye  at  him. 

"  Any  divarshun'  goin  on  ?  "  says  Essex. 

"  You're  a  sthranger  in  these  parts,  I'm  thinking" 
says  the  ould  man,  "  or  you'd  know  this  was  a  '  band 
night '  in  Dalkey." 

"  I  wasn't  aware  of  it,"  says  Essex  ;  "  the  fact  is," 
says  he,  "  I  only  landed  from  England  just  this  minute." 

"  Ay,"  says  the  ould  man,  bitterly,  "  it's  little  they 
know  about  us  over  there.  I'll  hould  you,"  says  he, 


THE  FIRST   LORD   LIFTINANT.  l6l 

with  a  slight  thrimble  in  his  voice,  "  that  the  Queen 
herself  doesn't  know  there  is  to  be  fireworks  in  the 
Sorrento  Gardens  this  night."  Well,  when  Essex  heard 
that,  he  disrembered  entirely  he  was  sent  over  to  Ireland 
to  put  down  rows  and  ructions,  and  away  wid  him 
to  see  the  fun  and  flirt  wid  all  the  pretty  girls  he  could 
find.  And  he  found  plenty  of  them — thick  as  bees  they 
wor,  and  each  one  as  beautiful  as  the  day  and  the  morra. 
He  wrote  two  letters  home  next  day — one  to  Queen 
Elizabeth  and  the  other  to  Lord  Mountaigle,  a  playboy 
like  himself.  I'll  read  you  the  one  to  the  Queen  first : — 

"  Dame  Sthreet,  April  i6th,  1599. 

"  Fair  Enchantress, — I  wish  I  was  back  in  London, 
baskin'  in  your  sweet  smiles  and  listenin'  to  your 
melodious  voice  once  more.  I  got  the  consignment 
of  men  and  the  post-office  order  all  right.  I  was  out 
all  the  mornin'  lookin'  for  the  inimy,  but  sorra  a  taste 
of  Hugh  O'Neill  or  his  men  can  I  find.  A  policeman 
at  the  corner  o'  Nassau  Street  told  me  they  wor  hidin' 
in  Wicklow.  So  I  am  makin'  up  a  party  to  explore 
the  Dargle  on  Easter  Monda'.  The  girls  here  are 
as  ugly  as  sin,  and  every  minute  o'  the  day  I  do  be 
wishin'  it  was  your  good-lookin'  self  I  was  gazin'  at 
instead  o'  these  ignorant  scarecrows. 

"  Hopin'  soon  to  be  back  in  ould  England,  I  remain, 
your  lovin'  subject 

Essex." 

"  P.S.— I  hear  Hugh  O'Neill  was  seen  on  the  top  o'  the 
Donnybrook  tram  yesterday  mornin'.  If  I  have  any 
luck  the  head'll  be  off  him  before  you  get  this. 

E." 


1 62  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

The  other  letter  read  this  way  : — 

"  Dear  Monty — This  is  a  great  place,  all  out.  Come 
over  here  if  you  want  fun.  Divil  such  play-boys  ever 
I  seen,  and  the  girls — oh  !  don't  be  talkin' — 'pon  me 
secret  honour  you'll  see  more  loveliness  at  a  tay  and  a 
supper  ball  in  Rathmines  than  there  is  in  the  whole 
of  England.  Tell  Ned  Spenser  to  send  me  a  love-song 
to  sing  to  a  young  girl  who  seems  to  be  taken  wid  my 
appearance.  Her  name's  Mary,  and  she  lives  in  Dunlary, 
so  he  oughtn't  to  find  it  hard.  I  hear  Hugh  O'Neill's  a 
terror,  and  hits  a  powerful  welt,  especially  when  you're 
not  lookin'.  If  he  tries  any  of  his  games  on  wid  me, 
I'll  give  him  in  charge.  No  brawlin'  for  your's  truly 

Essex." 

Well,  me  bould  Essex  stopped  for  odds  of  six  months 
in  Dublin,  purtendin'  to  be  very  busy  subjugatin'  the 
country,  but  all  the  time  only  losin'  his  time  and  money 
widout  doin'  a  hand's  turn,  and  doin'  his  best  to  avoid  a 
ruction  with  "  Fighting  Hugh."  If  a  messenger  came 
to  tell  him  that  O'Neill  was  camping  out  on  the  North 
Bull,  Essex  would  up  stick  and  away  for  Sandycove, 
where,  after  draggin'  the  forty-foot  hole,  he'd  write  off 
to  Elizabeth,  saying  that,  "  owing  to  their  suparior 
knowledge  of  the  country  the  dastard  foe  had  once 
more  eluded  him." 

The  Queen  got  mighty  tired  of  these  letters,  especially 
as  they  always  ended  with  a  request  to  send  stamps  by 
return,  and  told  Essex  to  finish  up  his  business  and  not 
be  makin'  a  fool  of  himself. 

"  Oh,  that's  the  talk,  is  it,"  says  Essex  ;  "  very  well, 
me  ould  sauce-box  "  (that  was  the  name  he  had  for  her 
ever  since  she  gev  him  the  clip  on  the  ear  for  turnin' 


THE    FIRST   LORD   LIFTINANT.  163 

his  back  on  her),  "  very  well  me  ould  sauce-box,"  says 
he, "  I'll  write  off  to  O'Neill  this  very  minute,  and  tell 
him  to  send  in  his  lowest  terms  for  peace  at  ruling  prices." 
Well,  the  threaty  was  a  bit  of  a  one-sided  one — the 
terms  being — 

1.  Hugh  O'Neill  to  be  King  of  Great  Britain. 

2.  Lord  Essex  to  return  to  London  and  remain  there 

as  Viceroy  of  England. 

3.  The  O'Neill  family  to  be  supported  by  Government, 

with  free  passes  to  all  theatres  and  places  of 
entertainment. 

4.  The  London  Markets  to  buy  only  from  Irish  dealers. 

5.  All  taxes  to  be  sent  in  stamped  envelopes,  directed 

to  H.  O'Neill,  and  marked  "  private."  Cheques 
crossed  and  made  payable  to  H.  O'Neill.  Terms 
cash. 

Well,  if  Essex  had  had  the  sense  to  read  through  this 
treaty  he'd  have  seen  it  was  of  too  graspin'  a  nature  to 
pass  with  any  sort  of  a  respectable  sovereign,  but  he  was 
that  mad  he  just  stuck  the  document  in  the  pocket  of 
his  pot-metal  overcoat,  and  away  wid  him  hot  foot  for 
England. 

"  Is  the  Queen  widin  ?  "  says  he  to  the  butler,  when 
he  opened  the  door  o'  the  palace.  His  clothes  were 
that  dirty  and  disorthered  wid  travellin'  all  night,  and 
his  boots  that  muddy,  that  the  butler  was  not  for  littin' 
him  in  at  the  first  go  off,  so  says  he,  very  grand  ;  "  Her 
Majesty  is  above  stairs  and  can't  be  seen  till  she's  had  her 
break  whist." 

"  Tell  her  the  Lord  Liftinant  of  Ireland  desires  an 
interview,"  says  Essex. 

"  Oh,  beg  pardon,  me  lord,"  says  the  butler,  steppin' 


164  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

to  one  side,  "  I  didn't  know  'twas  yourself  was  in  it ; 
come  inside,  sir  ;  the  Queen's  in  the  dhrawin'-room." 

Well,  Essex  leps  up  the  stairs  and  into  the  dhrawin'- 
room  wid  him,  muddy  boots  and  all  ;  but  not  a  sight 
of  Elizabeth  was  to  be  seen. 

"  Where's  your  misses  ?  "  says  he  to  one  of  the 
maids-of-honour  that  was  dustin'  the  chimbley-piece. 

"  She's  not  out  of  her  bed  yet,"  said  the  maid,  with  a 
toss  of  her  head  ;  "  but  if  you  write  your  message  on 
the  slate  beyant,  I'll  see  " — but  before  she  had  finished, 
Essex  was  up  the  second  flight  and  knockin'  at  the 
Queen's  bedroom  door. 

"  Is  that  the  hot  wather  ?  "  says  the  Queen. 

"  No,  it's  me, — Essex.     Can  you  see  me  ?  " 

"  Faith,  I  can't,"  says  the  Queen.  "  Hould  on  till 
I  draw  the  bed-curtains.  Come  in  now,"  says  she, 
"  and  say  your  say,  for  I  can't  have  you  stoppin'  long — 
you  young  Lutharian." 

"  Bedad,  yer  Majesty,"  says  Essex,  droppin'  on  his 
knees  before  her  (the  delutherer  he  was),  "  small  blame 
to  me  if  I  am  a  Lutharian,  for  you  have  a  face  on  you 
that  would  charm  a  bird  off  a  bush." 

"  Hould  your  tongue,  you  young  reprobate,"  says  the 
Queen,  blushin'  up  to  her  curl-papers  wid  delight, 
"  and  tell  me  what  improvements  you  med  in  Ireland." 

"  Faith,  I  taught  manners  to  O'Neill,"  cries  Essex. 

"  He  had  a  bad  masther  then, "says  Elizabeth, lookin' 
at  his  dirty  boots  ;  "  couldn't  you  wipe  yer  feet  before 
ye  desthroyed  me  carpets,  young  man  ?  " 

"  Oh,  now,"  says  Essex,  "  is  it  wastin'  me  time  shufflin' 
about  on  a  mat  you'd  have  me,  when  I  might  be  gazin' 
on  the  loveliest  faymale  the  world  ever  saw." 

"  Well,"  says  the  Queen,  "  I'll  forgive  you  this  time, 


THE  FIRST   LORD   LIFTINANT.  165 

as  you've  been  so  long  away,  but  remimber  in  future 
that  Kidderminster  ain't  oilcloth.  Tell  me,"  says  she, 
"  is  Westland  Row  Station  finished  yet  ?  " 

"  There's  a  side  wall  or  two  wanted  yet,  I  believe," 
says  Essex. 

"  What  about  the  Loop  Line  ?  "  says  she. 

"  Oh,  they're  gettin'  on  with  that,"  says  he,  "  only 
some  people  think  the  girders  a  disfigurement  to  the  city." 

"  Is  there  any  talk  about  that  esplanade  from  Sandy  cove 
to  Dunlary  ?  " 

"  There's  talk  about  it,  but  that's  all,"  says  Essex  ; 
"  'twould  be  an  odious  fine  improvement  to  house 
property,  and  I  hope  they'll  see  to  it  soon." 

"  Sorra  much  you  seem  to  have  done,  beyant  spendin' 
me  men  and  me  money.  Let's  have  a  look  at  that 
treaty  I  see  stickin'  out  o'  your  pocket." 

Well,  when  the  Queen  read  the  terms  of  Hugh  O'Neill 
she  just  gev  him  one  look,  an'  jumpin'  from  off  the  bed, 
she  put  her  head  out  of  the  window,  and  called  out 
to  the  policeman  on  duty — 

"  Is  the  Head  below  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  him  you  want  him,  ma'am,"  says  the 
policeman. 

"  Do,"   says  the   Queen.     "  Hello,"  says  she,  as   a 
slip  of  paper  dhropped  out  o'  the  dispatches.     "  What's 
this  ?     '  Lines    to    Mary.'     Ho !     ho  I     me    gay    fella, 
that's  what  you've  been  up  to,  is  it  ?  " 
"  Mrs.  Brady 
Is  a  widow  lady, 

And  she  has  a  charmin'  daughter  I  adore  ; 
I  went  to  court  her 
Across  the  water, 
And  her  mother  keeps  a  little  candy-store. 


1 66  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

She's  such  a  darlin', 
She's  like  a  ttarlin', 

And  in  love  with  her  I'm  gettin'  more  and  more, 
Her  name  is  Mary, 
She's  from  Dunlary  ; 

And  her  mother  keeps  a  little  candy-store  " 

"  That  settles  it,"  says  the  Queen.  "  It's  the  gaoler 
you'll  serenade  next." 

When  Essex  heard  that,  he  thrimbled  so  much  that  the 
button  of  his  cuirass  shook  off  and  rowled  under  the 
dhressin '-table. 

"  Arrest  that  man,"  says  the  Queen,  when  the  Head- 
Constable  came  to  the  door  ;  "  arrest  that  thrayter," 
says  she,  "  and  never  let  me  set  eyes  on  him  again." 

And,  indeed,  she  never  did,  and  soon  after  that  he  met 
with  his  death  from  the  skelp  of  an  axe  he  got  when  he 
was  standin'  on  Tower  Hill 


THE  BOAT'S  SHARE  167 

The   Boat's   Share. 

From  "  Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  R.M." 

BY  E.   CE.    SOMERVILLE   AND   MARTIN   ROSS. 

THE  affair  on  the  strand  at  Hare  Island  ripened,  with 
complexity  of  summonses  and  cross-summonses,  into 
an  imposing  Petty  Sessions  case.  Two  separate  depu- 
tations presented  themselves  at  Shreelane,  equipped 
with  black  eyes  and  other  conventional  injuries,  one 
of  them  armed  with  a  creelful  of  live  lobsters  to  underline 
the  argument.  To  decline  the  bribe  was  of  no  avail  : 
the  deputation  decanted  them  upon  the  floor  of  the  hall 
and  retired,  and  the  lobsters  spread  themselves  at  large 
over  the  house r  and  to  this  hour  remain  the  nightmare 
of  the  nursery. 

The  next  Petty  Sessions  day  was  wet  ;  the  tall  windows 
of  the  Court  House  were  grey  and  streaming,  and  the 
reek  of  wet  humanity  ascended  to  the  ceiling.  As  I  took 
my  seat  on  the  bench  I  perceived  with  an  inward  groan 
that  the  services  of  the  two  most  eloquent  solicitors 
in  Skebawn  had  been  engaged.  This  meant  that 
Justice  would  not  have  run  its  course  till  heaven  knew 
that  dim  hour  of  the  afternoon,  and  that  that  course 
would  be  devious  and  difficult. 

All  the  pews  and  galleries  (any  Irish  court-house  might, 
with  the  addition  of  a  harmonium,  pass  presentably 
as  a  dissenting  chapel)  were  full,  and  a  line  of  flat-capped 
policemen  stood  like  church-wardens  near  the  door. 
Under  the  galleries,  behind  what  might  have  answered 
to  choir-stalls,  the  witnesses  and  their  friends  hid  in 
darkness,  which  could,  however,  but  partially  conceal 


1 68  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH  LIFE. 

two  resplendent  young  ladies,  barmaids,  who  were 
to  appear  in  a  subsequent  Sunday  drinking  case.  I 
was  a  little  late,  and  when  I  arrived  Flurry  Knox, 
supported  by  a  couple  of  other  magistrates,  was  in  the 
chair,  imperturbable  of  countenance  as  was  his  wont, 
his  fair  and  delusive  youthfulness  of  aspect  unimpaired 
by  his  varied  experiences  during  the  war,  his  roving, 
subtle  eye  untamed  by  four  years  of  matrimony. 

A  woman  was  being  examined,  a  square  and  ugly 
country-woman,  with  wispy  fair  hair,  a  slow,  dignified 
manner,  and  a  slight  and  impressive  stammer.  I 
recognised  her  as  one  of  the  bodyguard  of  the  lobsters. 
Mr.  Mooney,  solicitor  for  the  Brickleys,  widely  known, 
and  respected  as  "  Roaring  Jack,"  was  in  possession  of 
that  much-enduring  organ,  the  ear  of  the  Court. 

"  Now,  Kate  Keohane  !  "  he  thundered,  "  tell  me 
what  time  it  was  when  all  this  was  going  on  ?  " 

"  About  duskish,  sir.  Con  Brickley  was  slashing  the 
f-fish  at  me  mother  the  same  time.  He  never  said 
a  word  but  to  take  the  shtick  and  fire  me  dead  with  it 
on  the  sthrand.  He  gave  me  plenty  of  blood  to  dhrink, 
too,"  said  the  witness,  with  acid  decorum.  She  paused 
to  permit  this  agreeable  fact  to  sink  in,  and  added,  "  his 
wife  wanted  to  f-fashten  on  me  the  same  time,  an'  she 
havin'  the  steer  of  the  boat  to  sthrike  me." 

These  were  not  precisely  the  facts  that  Mr.  Murphy, 
as  solicitor  for  the  defence,  wished  to  elicit. 

"  Would  you  kindly  explain  what  you  mean  by  the 
steer  of  the  boat  ?  "  he  demanded,  sparring  for  wind 
in  as  intimidating  a  manner  as  possible.  The  witness 
stared  at  him. 

"  Sure,  'tis  the  shtick,  like,  that  they  pulls  here  and 
there  to  go  in  their  choice  place." 


THE  BOAT'S   SHARE.  169 

"  We  may  presume  that  the  lady  is  referring  to  the 
tiller,"  said  Mr.  Mooney,  with  a  facetious  eye  at  the 
Bench.  "  Maybe  now,  ma'am,  you  can  explain  to  us 
what  sort  of  a  boat  is  she  ?  " 

"  She's  that  owld  that  if  it  wasn't  for  the  weeds  that's 
holding  her  together  she'd  bursht  up  in  the  deep." 

"  And  who  owns  this  valuable  property  ?  "  pursued 
Mr.  Mooney. 

"  She's  between  Con  Brickley  and  me  brother,  an  the 
saine*  is  between  four,  an'  whatever  crew  does  be  in 
it  should  get  their  share,  and  the  boat  has  a  man's  share." 

I  made  no  attempt  to  comprehend  this,  relying  with 
well-founded  confidence  on  Flurry  Knox's  grasp  of 
such  enigmas. 

"  Was  Con  Brickley  fishing  the  same  day  ?  " 

"  He  was  not,  sir.  He  was  at  Lisheen  Fair  ;  for  as 
clever  as  he  is,  he  couldn't  kill  two  birds  under  one  slat !  ' 

Kate  Keohane's  voice  moved  unhurried  from  sentence 
to  sentence,  and  her  slow,  pale  eyes  turned  for  an  instant 
to  the  lair  of  the  witnesses  under  the  gallery. 

"  And  you're  asking  the  Bench  to  believe  that  this 
decent  man  left  his  business  in  Lisheen  in  order  to 
slash  fish  at  your  mother  ?  "  said  Mr.  Mooney,  trucu- 
lently. 

"  B'lieve  me,  sorra  much  business  he  laves  afther 
him  wherever  he'll  go  !  "  returned  the  witness.  "  Himself 
and  his  wife  had  business  enough  on  the  sthrand  when 
the  fish  was  dividing,  and  it  is  then  themselves  put 
every  name  on  me." 

"  Ah,  what  harm  are  names  !  "  said  Mr.  Mooney, 
dallying  elegantly  with  a  massive  watch-chain. 

"  Come,  now,  ma'am  !  will  you  swear  you  got  any 
*  A  large  net. 


1 70  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH  LIFE. 

ill-usage  from  Con  Brickley  or  his  wife  ?  "  He  leaned 
over  the  front  of  his  pew,  and  waited  for  the  answer 
with  his  massive  red  head  on  one  side. 

"  I  was  givin'  blood  like  a  c-cow  that  ye'd  shtab 
with  a  knife  !  "  said  Kate  Keohane,  with  unshaken 
dignity.  "  If  it  was  yourself  that  was  in  it  ye'd  feel  the 
smart  as  well  as  me.  My  hand  and  word  on  it,  ye  would  ! 
The  marks  is  on  me  head  still,  like  the  prints  of  dog- 
bites  !  " 

She  lifted  a  lock  of  hair  from  her  forehead,  and  exhibited 
a  sufficiently  repellent  injury.  Flurry  Knox  leaned 
forward. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  haven't  that  since  the  time  there 
was  that  business  between  yourself  and  the  post- 
mistress at  Munig  ?  I'm  told  you  had  the  name  of  the 
post-office  on  your  forehead  where  she  struck  you  with 
the  office  stamp  !  Try,  now,  sergeant,  can  you  read 
Munig  on  her  forehead  ?  " 

The  Court,  not  excepting  its  line  of  church- wardens, 
dissolved  into  laughter  ;  Kate  Keohane  preserved  an 
offended  silence. 

"  I  suppose  you  want  us  to  believe,"  resumed  Mr. 
Mooney,  sarcastically,  "  that  a  fine,  hearty  woman  like 
you  wasn't  defending  yourself  !  "  Then,  with  a  turkey- 
cock  burst  of  fury,  "  On  your  oath,  now  !  What  did 
you  strike  Honora  Brickley  with  ?  Answer  me  that 
now  !  What  had  you  in  your  hand  ?  " 

"  I  had  nothing  only  the  little  rod  I  had  after  the  ass," 
answered  Miss  Keohane,  with  a  child -like  candour. 
"  I  done  nothing  to  them  ;  but  as  for  Con  Brickley,  he 
put  his  back  to  the  cliff  and  he  took  the  flannel  wrop  that 
he  had  on  him,  and  he  threw  it  on  the  sthrand,  and  he 
said  he  would  have  blood,  murdher,  or  f-fish  !  " 


THE  BOAT'S  SHARE.  i yi 

She  folded  her  shawl  across  her  breast,  a  picture  of 
virtue  assailed,  yet  unassailed. 

"  You  may  go  down  now,"  said  "  Roaring  Jack," 
rather  hastily,  "  I  want  to  have  a  few  words  with  your 
brother." 

Miss  Keohane  retired,  without  having  moulted  a 
feather  of  her  dignity,  and  her  brother  Jer  came  heavily 
up  the  steps  and  on  to  the  platform,  his  hot,  wary,  blue 
eyes  gathering  in  the  Bench  and  the  attorneys  in  one 
bold,  comprehensive  glance.  He  was  a  tall,  dark  man 
of  about  five  and  forty,  clean-shaved,  save  for  two 
clerical  inches  of  black  whiskers,  and  in  feature  of  the 
type  of  a  London  clergyman  who  would  probably 
preach  on  Browning. 

"  Well,  sir !  "  began  Mr.  Mooney,  stimulatingly, 
"  and  are  you  the  biggest  blackguard  from  here  to 
America  ?  " 

"  I  am  not,"  said  Jer  Keohane,  tranquilly. 

"  We  had  you  here  before  us  not  so  very  long  ago 
about  kicking  a  goat,  wasn't  it  ?  You  got  a  little  touch 
of  a  pound,  I  think  ?  " 

This  delicate  allusion  to  a  fine  that  the  Bench  had 
thought  fit  to  impose  did  not  distress  the  witness. 

"  I  did,  sir." 

"  And  how's  our  friend  the  goat  ?  "  went  on  Mr. 
Mooney,  with  the  furious  facetiousness  reserved  for 
hustling  tough  witnesses. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  she's  something  west  of  the  Skelligs 
by  now,"  replied  Jer  Keohane  with  great  composure. 

An  appreciative  grin  ran  round  the  Court.  The  fact 
that  the  goat  had  died  of  the  kick  and  been  "  given  the 
cliff  "  being  regarded  as  an  excellent  jest. 

Mr.  Mooney  consulted  his  notes  : 


172  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  Well,  now,  about  this  fight,"  he  said,  pleasantly, 
"  did  you  see  your  sister  catch  Mrs.  Brickley  and  pull 
her  hair  down  to  the  ground  and  drag  her  shawl  off  of 
her  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  witness,  airily,  "  they  had  a  bit  of  a 
scratch  on  account  o'  the  fish.  Con  Brickley  had  the 
shteer  o'  the  boat  in  his  hand,  and  says  he,  '  is  there 
any  man  here  that'll  take  the  shteer  from  me  ? '  The 
man  was  dhrunk,  of  course,"  added  Jer  charitably. 

"  Did  you  have  any  talk  with  his  wife  about  the 
fish  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't  tell  the  words  that  she  said  to  me  !  " 
replied  the  witness,  with  a  reverential  glance  at  the 
Bench,  "  and  she  over-right  three  crowds  o'  men  that 
was  on  the  sthrand." 

Mr.  Mooney  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  surveyed 
the  witness. 

"  You're  a  very  refined  gentleman,  upon  my  word  ! 
Were  you  ever  in  England  ?  " 

"  I  was,  part  of  three  years." 

"  Oh,  that  accounts  for  it,  I  suppose  !  "  said  Mr. 
Mooney,  accepting  this  lucid  statement  without  a 
stagger,  and  passing  lightly  on.  "  You're  a  widower, 
I  understand,  with  no  objection  to  consoling  yourself  ?  " 

No  answer. 

"  Now,  sir  !  Can  you  deny  that  you  made  proposals 
of  marriage  to  Con  Brickley's  daughter  last  Shraft  ? 

The  plot  thickened.  Con  Brickley's  daughter  was  my 
kitchen  maid. 

Jer  Keohane  smiled  tolerantly.  "  Ah  I  that  was  a 
thing  o'  nothing." 

"  Nothing  !  "  said  Mr.  Mooney,  with  a  roar  of  a 
tornado.  "Do  you  call  an  impudent  proposal  of  marriage 


THE  BOAT'S   SHARE.  173 

to  a  respectable  man's  daughter  nothing !  That's 
English  manners,  I  suppose  !  " 

"  I  was  goin'  home  one  Sunday,"  said  Jer  Keohane, 
conversationally,  to  the  Bench,  "  and  I  met  the  gerr'l 
and  her  mother.  I  spoke  to  the  gerr'l  in  a  friendly 
way,  and  asked  her  why  wasn't  she  gettin'  marrid,  and 
she  commenced  to  peg  stones  at  me  and  dhrew  several 
blows  of  an  umbrella  on  me.  I  had  only  three  bottles 
of  porther  taken.  There  now  was  the  whole  of  it." 

Mrs.  Brickley,  from  the  gallery,  groaned  heavily  and 
ironically. 

I  found  it  difficult  to  connect  these  coquetries  with  my 
impressions  of  my  late  kitchenmaid,  a  furtive  and  touzled 
being,  who,  in  conjunction  with  a  pail  and  scrubbing 
brush,  had  been  wont  to  melt  round  corners  and  into 
doorways  at  my  approach. 

"  Are  we  trying  a  breach  of  promise  ?  "  interpolated 
Flurry  ;  "  if  so,  we  ought  to  have  the  plaintiff  in." 

"  My  purpose,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Mooney,  in  a  manner 
discouraging  to  levity,  "  is  to  show  that  my  clients  have 
received  annoyance  and  contempt  from  this  man  and  his 
sister  such  as  no  parents  would  submit  to." 

A  hand  came  forth  from  under  the  gallery  and  plucked 
at  Mr.  Mooney's  coat.  A  red  monkey  face  appeared 
out  of  the  darkness,  and  there  was  a  hoarse  whisper, 
whose  purport  I  could  not  gather.  Con  Brickley, 
the  defendant,  was  giving  instructions  to  his  lawyer. 

It  was  perhaps  as  a  result  of  these  that  Jer  Keohane 's 
evidence  closed  here.  There  was  a  brief  interval 
enlivened  by  coughs,  grinding  of  heavy  boots  on  the 
floor,  and  some  mumbling  and  groaning  under  the 
gallery. 

"  There's  great  duck-shooting  out  on  a  lake  on  this 


174  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

island,"  commented  Flurry  to  me,  in  a  whisper.  "  My 
grand-uncle  went  there  one  time  with  an  old  duck-gun 
he  had,  that  he  fired  with  a  fuse.  He  was  three  hours 
stalking  the  ducks  before  he  got  the  gun  laid.  He  lit 
the  fuse  then,  and  it  set  to  work  spluttering  and  hissing 
like  a  goods -engine  till  there  wasn't  a  duck  within  ten 
miles.  The  gun  went  off  then." 

This  useful  side-light  on  the  matter  in  hand  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  cumbrous  ascent  of  the  one-legged  Con 
Brickley  to  the  witness-table.  He  sat  down  heavily, 
with  his  slouch  hat  on  his  sound  knee,  and  his  wooden 
stump  stuck  out  before  him.  His  large  monkey  face 
was  immovably  serious  ;  his  eye  was  small,  light  grey, 
and  very  quick. 

McCaffery,  the  opposition  attorney,  a  thin,  restless 
youth,  with  ears  like  the  handles  of  an  urn,  took  him  in 
hand.  To  the  pelting  cross-examination  that  beset 
him  Con  Brickley  replied  with  sombre  deliberation, 
and  with  a  manner  of  uninterested  honesty,  emphasising 
what  he  said  with  slight,  very  effective  gestures  of  his 
big,  supple  hands.  His  voice  was  deep  and  pleasant  ; 
it  betrayed  no  hint  of  so  trivial  a  thing  as  satisfaction 
when,  in  the  teeth  of  Mr.  McCaffery's  leading  questions, 
he  established  the  fact  that  the  "  little  rod  "  with  which 
Miss  Kate  Keohane  had  beaten  his  wife  was  the  handle 
of  a  pitch-fork. 

"  I  was  counting  the  fish  the  same  time,"  went  on 
Con  Brickley,  in  his  rolling  basso  profundissimo,  "  and 
she  said,  '  Let  the  divil  clear  me  out  of  the  sthrand, 
for  there's  no  one  else  will  put  me  out !  '  says  she." 

"  It  was  then  she  got  the  blow,  I  suppose  !  "  said 
McCaffery,  venomously  ;  "  you  had  a  stick  yourself, 
I  daresay  ?  " 


THE  BOAT'S   SHARE.  175 

"  Yes.  I  had  a  stick.  I  must  have  a  stick,"  (deep  and 
mellow  pathos  was  hinted  at  in  the  voice),  "  I  am  sorry 
to  say.  What  could  I  do  to  her  ?  A  man  with  a  wooden 
leg  on  a  sthrand  could  do  nothing  !  " 

Something  like  a  laugh  ran  at  the  back  of  the  court. 
Mr.  McCaffery's  ears  turned  scarlet  and  became  quite 
decorative.  On  or  off  a  strand  Con  Brickley  was  not 
a  person  to  be  scored  off  easily. 

His  clumsy,  yet  impressive,  descent  from  the  witness 
stand  followed  almost  immediately,  and  was  not  the  least 
telling  feature  of  his  evidence.  Mr.  Mooney  surveyed 
his  exit  with  the  admiration  of  one  artist  for  another, 
and,  rising,  asked  the  Bench's  permission  to  call  Mrs. 
Brickley. 

Mrs.  Brickley,  as  she  mounted  to  the  platform,  in 
the  dark  and  nun-like  severity  of  her  long  cloak,  the 
stately  blue  cloth  cloak  that  is  the  privilege  of  the  Munster 
peasant  woman,  was  an  example  of  the  rarely-blended 
qualities  of  picturesqueness  and  respectability.  As 
she  took  her  seat  in  the  chair,  she  flung  the  deep  hood 
back  on  her  shoulders,  and  met  the  gaze  of  the  court 
with  her  grey  head  erect ;  she  was  a  witness  to  be  proud 
of. 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Brickley,"  said  "  Roaring  Jack,"  urbanely, 
"  will  you  describe  this  interview  between  your  daughter 
and  Keohane." 

"  It  was  last  Sunday  in  Shrove,  your  Worship,  Mr 
Flurry  Knox,  and  gentlemen,"  began  Mrs.  Brickley 
nimbly,  "  meself  and  me  little  gerr'l  was  comin'  from 
mass,  and  Mr.  Jer  Keohane  came  up  to  us  and  got  on 
in  a  most  unmannerable  way.  He  asked  me  daughter 
would  she  marry  him.  Me  daughter  told  him  she 
would  not,  quite  friendly  like.  I'll  tell  you  no  lie, 


176  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

gentlemen,  she  was  teasing  him  with  the  umbrella  the 
same  time ;  an'  he  raised  his  shtick  and  dhrew  a  sthroke 
on  her  in  the  back,  an'  the  little  gerr'l  took  up  a  small 
pebble  of  a  stone  and  fired  it  at  him.  She  put  the 
umbrella  up  to  his  mouth,  but  she  called  him  no  names. 
But  as  for  him,  the  names  he  put  on  her  was  to  call  her  '  a 
nasty,  long,  slopeen  of  a  proud  thing,  and  a  slopeen  of 
a  proud  tinker.'  " 

"  Very  lover-like  expressions  !  "  commented  Mr. 
Mooney,  doubtless  stimulated  by  the  lady-like  titters 
from  the  barmaids  ;  "  and  had  this  romantic  gentleman 
made  any  previous  proposals  for  your  daughter  ?  " 

"  Himself  had  two  friends  over  from  across  the  water 
one  night  to  make  the  match,  a  Sathurday  it  was,  and  they 
should  land  the  lee  side  o'  the  island,  for  the  wind  was 
a  fright,"  replied  Mrs.  Brickley,  launching  her  tale  with 
the  power  of  easy  narration  that  is  bestowed  with  such 
amazing  liberality  on  her  class.  "  The  three  o'  them 
had  dhrink  taken,  an'  I  went  to  shlap  out  the  door 
agin  them.  Me  husband  said  then  we  should  let  them 
in,  if  it  was  a  Turk  itself,  with  the  rain  that  was  in  it. 
They  were  talking  in  it  then  till  near  the  dawning,  and 
in  the  latther  end  all  that  was  between  them  was  the 
boat's  share." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  the  boat's  share  '  ?  "  said  I. 

"  '  Tis  the  same  as  a  man's  share,  me  worshipful 
gintleman,"  returned  Mrs.  Brickley,  splendidly  ;  "  it 
goes  with  the  boat  always,  afther  the  crew  and  the 
saine  has  their  share  got." 

I  possibly  looked  as  enlightened  as  I  felt  by  this 
exposition. 

"  You  mean  that  Jer  wouldn't  have  her  unless  he  got 
the  boat's  share  with  her  ?  "  suggested  Flurry. 


THE  BOAT  S   SHARE  177 

"  He  said  it  over-right  all  that  was  in  the  house,  and 
he  reddening  his  pipe  at  the  fire,"  replied  Mrs.  Brickley, 
in  full-sailed  response  to  the  helm.  ' '  D'ye  think,' 
says  I  to  him,  *  that  me  daughter  would  leave  a  lovely 
situation,  with  a  kind  and  tendher  masther,  for  a  mean, 
hungry  blagyard  like  yerself,'  says  I,  '  that's  livin' 
always  in  this  backwards  place  !  '  says  I." 

This  touching  expression  of  preference  for  myself, 
as  opposed  to  Mr.  Keohane,  was  received  with  expres- 
sionless respect  by  the  Court.  Flurry,  with  an  impassive 
countenance,  kicked  me  heavily  under  cover  of  the 
desk.  I  said  that  we  had  better  get  on  to  the  assault 
on  the  strand.  Nothing  could  have  been  more  to 
Mrs.  Brickley's  taste.  We  were  minutely  instructed 
as  to  how  Katie  Keohane  drew  the  shawleen  forward 
on  Mrs.  Brickley's  head  to  stifle  her  ;  and  how  Norrie 
Keohane  was  fast  in  her  hair.  Of  how  Mrs.  Brickley 
had  then  given  a  stroke  upwards  between  herself  and 
her  face  (whatever  that  might  mean)  and  loosed  Norrie 
from  her  hair.  Of  how  she  then  sat  down  and 
commenced  to  cry  from  the  use  they  had  for  her. 

'  'Twas  all  I  done,"  she  concluded,  looking  like  a 
sacred  picture,  "  I  gave  her  a  stroke  of  a  pollock  on  them." 

"  As  for  language,"  replied  Mrs.  Brickley,  with  clear 
eyes,  a  little  uplifted  in  the  direction  of  the  ceiling, 
"  there  was  no  name  from  heaven  or  hell  but  she  had  it 
on  me,  and  wishin'  the  divil  might  burn  the  two  heels 
off  me,  and  the  like  of  me  wasn't  in  sivin  parishes  ! 
And  that  was  the  clane  part  of  the  discoorse,  yer 
Worships  !  " 

Mrs.  Brickley  here  drew  her  cloak  more  closely  about 
her,  as  though  to  enshroud  herself  in  her  own  refinement, 
and  presented  to  the  Bench  a  silence  as  elaborate  as  a 


178  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH  LIFE. 

drop  scene.   It  implied,  amongst  other  things,  a  generous 
confidence  in  the  imaginative  powers  of  her  audience. 

Whether  or  no  this  was  misplaced,  Mrs.  Brickley 
was  not  invited  further  to  enlighten  the  Court.  After 
her  departure  the  case  droned  on  in  inexhaustible 
rancour,  and  trackless  complications  as  to  the  shares 
of  the  fish.  Its  ethics  and  its  arithmetic  would  have 
defied  the  allied  intellects  of  Solomon  and  Bishop 
Colenso.  It  was  somewhere  in  that  dead  afternoon, 
when  it  was  too  late  for  lunch  and  too  early  for  tea, 
that  the  Bench,  wan  with  hunger,  wound  up  the  affair, 
by  impartially  binding  both  parties  in  sheaves  "  to  the 
Peace  ' 


"  KING   WILLIAM."  179 

"King  William." 

From  "  Aliens  oj  the   West." 
BY  CHARLOTTE  O'CoNOR  ECCLES. 

MRS.  MACFARLANE  was  a  tall,  thin,  and  eminently 
respectable  woman  of  fifty,  possessed  of  many  rigid 
virtues.  She  was  a  native  of  the  north  of  Ireland,  and 
had  come  originally  to  Toomevara  as  maid  to  the 
Dowager  Lady  Dunanway.  On  the  death  of  her 
mistress,  whom  she  served  faithfully  for  many  years, 
Lord  Dunanway  offered  to  set  her  up  in  business,  and 
at  the  time  our  story  opens  she  had  been  for  two  years 
proprietress  of  the  buffet,  and  made  a  decent  living  by 
it ;  for  as  Toomevara  is  situated  on  the  Great  Southern 
and  Western  Railway,  a  fair  amount  of  traffic  passes 
through  it. 

The  stationmaster,  familiarly  known  as  "  Jim " 
O'Brien,  was  Toomevara  born,  and  had  once  been  a 
porter  on  that  very  line.  He  was  an  intelligent,  easy- 
going, yet  quick-tempered  man  of  pronounced  Celtic 
type,  with  a  round,  good-natured  face,  a  humorous 
mouth,  shrewd,  twinkling  eyes,  and  immense  volubility. 

Between  him  and  Mrs.  Macfarlane  the  deadliest 
warfare  raged.  She  was  cold  and  superior,  and  im- 
placably in  the  right.  She  pointed  out  Jim's  deficiencies 
whenever  she  saw  them,  and  she  saw  them  very  often. 
All  day  long  she  sat  in  her  refreshment  room,  spectacles 
on  nose,  her  Bible  open  before  her,  knitting,  and  rising 
only  at  the  entrance  of  a  customer.  Jim  had  an  uneasy 
consciousness  that  nothing  escaped  her  eye,  and  her 
critical  remarks  had  more  than  once  been  reported  to  him. 


l8o  HUMOURS    OF   IRISH   LIFE 

"  The  bitther  ould  pill !  "  he  said  to  his  wife.  "  Why, 
the  very  look  ov  her  'ud  sour  a  crock  o'  crame.  She's 
as  cross  as  a  bag  ov  weasels." 

Jim  was  a  Catholic  and  a  Nationalist.  He  belonged 
to  the  "  Laygue,"  and  spoke  at  public  meetings  as  often 
as  his  duties  allowed.  He  objected  to  being  referred  to 
by  Mrs.  Macfarlane  as  a  "  Papish  "  and  a  "  Rebel." 

"  Papish,  indeed  !  "  said  he.  "  Ribbil,  indeed  !  Tell 
the  woman  to  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  her  head,  or  'twill 
be  worse  for  her." 

"  How  did  the  likes  ov  her  iver  get  a  husban'  ?  "  he 
would  ask,  distractedly,  after  a  sparring  match.  "  Troth, 
an'  'tis  no  wondher  the  poor  man  died." 

Mrs.  Macfarlane  was  full  of  fight  and  courage.  Her 
proudest  boast  was  of  being  the  granddaughter,  daughter, 
sister,  and  widow  of  Orangemen. 

She  looked  on  herself  in  Toomevara  as  a  child  of 
Israel  among  the  Babylonians,  and  felt  that  it  behoved 
her  to  uphold  the  standard  of  her  faith.  To  this  end 
she  sang  the  praises  of  the  Battle  of  the  Boyne  with  a 
triumph  that  aggravated  O'Brien  to  madness. 

"  God  Almighty  help  the  woman !  Is  it  Irish  at 
all  she  is — or  what  ?  To  see  her  makin'  merry  because 

a  parcel  o'  rascally  Dutchmen !  Sure,  doesn't 

she  know  'twas  Irish  blood  they  spilt  at  the  Boyne  ? 
An'  to  see  her  takin'  pride  in  it  turns  me  sick,  so  it  does. 
If  she  was  English,  now,  I  could  stand  it,  but  she  callin' 
herself  an  Irishwoman — faith,  she  has  the  bad  dhrop 
in  her,  so  she  has,  to  be  glad  at  her  counthry's  mis- 
forchins." 

Jim's  rage  was  the  greater  because  Mrs.  Macfarlane, 
whatever  she  said,  said  little  or  nothing  to  him.  She 
passed  him  by  with  lofty  scorn  and  indifference  affecting 


"  KING  WILLIAM."  l8l 

not  to  see  him  ;  and  while  she  did  many  things  that 
O'Brien  found  supremely  annoying,  they  were  things 
strictly  within  her  rights. 

Matters  had  not  arrived  at  this  pass  all  at  once.  The 
feud  dated  from  Mrs.  Macfarlane's  having  adopted  a 
little  black  dog — a  mongrel — on  which  she  lavished  a 
wealth  of  affection,  and  which,  as  the  most  endearing 
title  she  knew,  she  named  "  King  William."  This, 
of  course,  was  nobody's  concern  save  Mrs.  Macfarlane's 
own,  and  in  a  world  of  philosophers  she  would  have 
been  allowed  to  amuse  herself  unheeded,  but  Jim  O'Brien 
was  not  a  philosopher. 

Unlike  most  Irishmen,  he  had  a  great  love  for  flowers. 
His  garden  was  beautifully  kept,  and  he  was  prouder 
of  his  roses  than  of  anything  on  earth  save  his  eldest 
daughter,  Kitty,  who  was  nearly  sixteen.  Picture, 
then,  his  rage  and  dismay  when  he  one  day  found  his 
beds  scratched  into  holes  and  his  roses  uprooted  by 
"  King  William,"  who  had  developed  a  mania  for  hiding 
away  bones  under  Jim's  flowers.  O'Brien  made  loud 
and  angry  complaints  to  the  dog's  owner,  which  she 
received  with  unconcern  and  disbelief. 

"  Please,  Mr.  O'Brien,"  she  said,  with  dignity,  "  don't 
try  to  put  it  on  the  puir  wee  dog.  Even  if  yu  du  dislike 
his  name,  that's  no  reason  for  saying  he  was  in  your 
garden.  He  knows  betther,  so  he  does,  than  to  go 
where  he's  not  wanted." 

After  this  it  was  open  war  between  the  stationmaster 
and  the  widow. 

Under  the  windows  of  the  refreshment  room  were 
two  narrow  flower-beds.  These  Jim  took  care  never 
to  touch,  affecting  to  consider  them  the  exclusive 
property  of  Mrs.  Macfarlane.  They  were  long  left 


1 82  HUMOUPS   OF   IRISH  LIFE. 

uncultivated,  an  eyesore  to  the  stationmaster  ;  but  one 
day  Kelly,  the  porter,  came  to  him  with  an  air  of  mystery, 
to  say  that  "  th  ould  wan  " — for  by  this  term  was 
Mrs  Macfarlane  generally  indicated — "  was  settin' 
somethin'  in  the  beds  beyant." 

Jim  came  out  of  his  office  and  walked  up  and  down 
the  platform  with  an  air  of  elaborate  unconsciousness. 
Sure  enough,  there  was  Mrs.  Macfarlane  gardening. 
She  had  donned  old  gloves  and  a  clean  checked  apron, 
and,  trowel  in  hand,  was  breaking  up  the  caked  earth, 
preparatory,  it  would  seem,  to  setting  plants. 

"  What  the  dickens  is  she  doin'  ?  "  asked  Jim,  when 
he  got  back. 

"  Not  a  wan  ov  me  knows,"  said  Kelly.  "  She's 
been  grubbin'  there  since  nine  o'clock.  " 

From  this  time  Mrs.  Macfarlane  was  assiduous  in 
the  care  of  her  two  flower-beds.  Every  day  she  might 
be  seen  weeding  or  watering,  and  though  Jirfl  steadily 
averted  his  gaze,  he  was  devoured  by  curiosity  as  to 
the  probable  results.  What  on  earth  did  she  want  to 
grow  ?  The  weeks  passed.  Tiny  green  seedlings  at 
last  pushed  their  way  through  the  soil,  and  in  due  course 
the  nature  of  the  plants  became  evident.  Jim  was  highly 
excited,  and  rushed  home  to  tell  his  wife. 

"  Be  the  hokey,  Mary,"  he  said,  "  'tis  lilies  she  has 
there,  an  may  I  never  sin,  but  it's  my  belief  they're 
orange  lilies,  an'  if  they  are,  I'll  root  ev'ry  wan  ov  thim 
out,  if  I  die  for  it." 

"  Be  quiet,  now,"  said  Mary.  "  How  d'ye  know 
they're  lilies  at  all  ?  For  the  love  o'  God  keep  her  tongue 
off  ov  ye,  an'  don't  be  puttin'  yersel'  in  her  way." 

"  Whist,  woman,  d'ye  think  I'm  a  fool  ?  'Tis  lilies 
th'  are  annyways,  an'  time'll  tell  if  they're  orange  or  not, 


"  KING   WILLIAM."  183 

but  faith,  if  th'are,  I  won't  shtand  it.'     I'll  complain 
to  the  Boord." 

"  Sure  the  Boord'll  be  on  her  side,  man.  Don't  yeh 
know  the  backin'  she  has  ?  They'll  say  '  Why  shouldn't 
she  have  orange  lilies  if  she  likes  ?  '  " 

"  Ah,  Mary,  'tis  too  sinsible  y'are  inthirely.  Have 
ye  no  sperrit,  woman  alive,  to  let  her  ride  rough -shod 
over  uz  this  way  ?  '  Make  a  mouse  o'  yerself  an'  the 
cat'll  ate  ye,'  's  a  thrue  saying.  Sure,  Saint  Pether 
himself  cuddn't  shtand  it,  an'  be  the  piper  that  played 
before  Moses,  I  won't  !  " 

"  Ye  misfortunit  man,  don't  be  dhrawin'  down  ructions 
on  yer  head.  Haven't  yeh  childer  to  think  about  ? 
An'  don't  be  throublin'  yerself  over  what  she  does. 
'Tis  plazin'  her  y'are  whin  she  sees  y're  mad.  Take 
no  notice,  man,  an'  p'raps  she'll  shtop." 

"  The  divil  fly  away  wid  her  for  a  bitther  ould  sarpint. 
The  vinom's  in  her,  sure  enough.  Why  should  I  put 
up  wid  her,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  " 

"Ah,  keep  yer  tongue  between  yer  teeth,  Jim.  'Tis 
too  onprudent  y'are.  Not  a  worrd  ye  dhrop  but  is 
brought  back  to  her  be  some  wan.  Have  sinse,  man. 
You'll  go  sayin'  that  to  Joe  Kelly,  an'  he'll  have  it  over 
the  town  in  no  time,  an'  some  wan'll  carry  it  to  her." 

"  An'  do  ye  think  I  care  a  thrawneen*  for  the  likes  ov 
her  ?  Faith,  not  a  pin.  If  you  got  yer  way,  Mary, 
ye'd  have  me  like  the  man  that  was  hanged  for  sayin' 
nothin'  Sure,  I  never  did  a  hand's  turn  agin  her, 
an'  'tis  a  low,  mane  thrick  ov  her  to  go  settin' 
orange  lilies  over  foreninst  me,  an'  she  knowin'  me 
opinions  " 

*  A  blade  of  grass. 


184  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

•*  Faith,  I'll  not  say  it  wasn't,  Jim,  if  they  are  orange 
lilies  ;  but  sure,  ye  don't  know  rightly  yet  what  th'are, 
an'  in  God's  name  keep  quite  till  you  do." 

The  days  went  by.  The  lilies  grew  taller  and  taller. 
They  budded,  they  bloomed,  and,  sure  enough,  Jim 
had  been  in  the  right — orange  lilies  they  proved  to  be. 

"  They'll  mek  a  fine  show  for  the  twelfth  of  July, 
I'm  thinkin',"  said  Mrs.  Macfarlane,  complacently,  as 
she  walked  by  her  beds,  swinging  a  dripping  watering- 
pot. 

At  the  time  of  the  blossoming  of  the  orange  lilies, 
James  O'Brien  was  not  at  home,  having  had  to  go  some 
twenty  miles  down  the  line  on  official  business.  The 
obnoxious  flowers  took  advantage  of  his  absence  to  make 
a  gay  show.  When  he  returned,  as  luck  would  have  it 
Mrs.  Macfarlane  was  away,  and  had  shut  up  the  refresh- 
ment room,  but  had  not  locked  it.  No  one  locks  doors 
in  Toomevara  unless  their  absence  is  to  be  lengthy. 
She  had  left  "  King  William  "  behind,  and  told  Joe 
Kelly  to  take  care  of  the  dog,  in  case  he  should  be  lonely, 
for  she  had  been  invited  to  the  wedding  of  an  old  fellow 
servant,  the  late  butler  at  Lord  Dunanway's,  who  was 
to  be  married  that  day  to  the  steward's  daughter. 

All  this  Joe  Kelly  told  the  stationmaster  on  his  return, 
but  he  did  not  say  a  word  about  the  orange  lilies,  being 
afraid  of  an  explosion,  and,  as  he  said,  "  detarmined  not 
to  meddle  or  make,  but  just  to  let  him  find  it  out  him- 
self." 

For  quite  a  time  Jim  was  occupied  over  way-bills  in 
his  little  office  ;  but  at  last  his  attention  was  distracted 
by  the  long  continued  howling  and  yelping  of  a  dog. 

"  Let  the  baste  out,  can't  ye  ?  "  he  at  length  said  to 
Kelly.  "  I  can't  stand  listening  to  um  anny  longer." 


"  KING  WILLIAM."  185 

"  I  was  afeared  'twas  run  over  he  might  be,  agin' 
she  came  back,"  said  Kelly,  "  'an  so  I  shut  um  up." 

"  Sure,  there's  no  danger.  There  won't  be  a  thrain  in 
for  the  next  two  hours,  an'  if  he  was  run  over  itself,  God 
knows  he'd  be  no  loss.  'Tisn't  meself  'ud  grieve  for 
um,  th'  ill-favoured  cur." 

"  King  William  "  was  accordingly  released. 

When  O'Brien  had  finished  his  task,  he  stood  for  a 
time  at  the  office  door,  his  hands  crossed  behind  him, 
supporting  his  coat  tails,  his  eyes  fixed  abstractedly 
on  the  sky.  Presently  he  started  for  his  usual  walk  up 
and  down  the  platform,  when  his  eye  was  at  once  caught 
by  the  flare  of  the  stately  rows  of  orange  lilies. 

"  Be  the  Holy  Poker  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  But  I  was 
right.  'Tis  orange  th'  are,  sure  enough.  What'll 
Mary  say  now  ?  Faith,  'tis  lies  they  do  be  tellin' 
whin  they  say  there's  no  riptiles  in  Ireland.  That  ould 
woman  bangs  Banagher,  an'  Banagher  bangs  the  divil." 

He  stopped  in  front  of  the  obnoxious  flowers. 

"  Isn't  it  the  murthering  pity  there's  nothing  I  can 
plant  to  spite  her.  She  has  the  pull  over  me  entirely. 
Shamerogues  makes  no  show  at  all — ye'd  pass  them 
unbeknownst — while  orange  lilies  yeh  can  see  a  mile  off. 
Now,  who  but  herself  'ud  be  up  to  the  likes  o'  this  ?  " 

At  the  moment  he  became  aware  of  an  extraordinary 
commotion  among  the  lilies,  and,  looking  closer,  per- 
ceived "  King  William  "  in  their  midst,  scratching  as 
if  for  bare  life,  scattering  mould,  leaves,  and  bulbs  to 
the  four  winds,  and  with  every  stroke  of  his  hind  legs 
dealing  destruction  to  the  carefully-tended  flowers. 

The  sight  filled  Jim  with  sudden  gladness. 

"  More  power  to  the  dog  !  "  he  cried,  with  irrepressible 
glee.  "  More  power  to  um  !  Sure,  he  has  more  sinse 


1 86  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

than  his  missus.  '  King  William,'  indeed,  an'  he  rootin' 
up  orange  lilies  !  Ho,  ho  !  Tare  an'  ouns  !  but  'tis 
the  biggest  joke  that  iver  I  hard  in  me  life.  More  power 
to  ye  !  Good  dog  !  " 

Rubbing  his  hands  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight,  he  watched 
"  King  William "  at  his  work  of  devastation,  and, 
regretfully  be  it  confessed,  when  the  dog  paused, 
animated  him  to  fresh  efforts  by  thrilling  cries  of  "  Rats  !  " 

"  King  William  "  sprang  wildly  hither  and  thither, 
running  from  end  to  end  of  the  beds,  snapping  the 
brittle  lily  stems,  scattering  the  blossoms. 

"  Be  gum,  but  it's  great !  Look  at  um  now.  Cruel 
wars  to  the  Queen  o'  Spain  if  iver  I  seen  such  shport ! 
Go  it,  '  King  William  ! '  Smash  thim,  me  boy  !  Good 
dog  !  Out  wid  them !  "  roared  Jim,  tears  of  mirth 
streaming  down  his  cheeks.  "  Faith,  'tis  mad  she'll 
be.  I'd  give  sixpence  to  see  her  face.  O  Lord  !  O 
Lord  !  sure,  it's  the  biggest  joke  that  iver  was." 

At  last  "  King  William  "  tired  of  the  game,  but  only 
when  every  lily  lay  low,  and  Mrs.  Macfarlane's  carefully 
tended  flower  beds  were  a  chaos  of  broken  stalks  and 
trampled  blossoms. 

As  O'Brien,  in  high  good  humour,  having  com- 
municated the  side-splitting  joke  to  Mary  and  Finnerty, 
was  busy  over  his  account  books,  Kelly  came  in. 

"  She's  back,"  he  whispered,  "  an  she's  neither  to  hold 
nor  to  bind.  I  was  watchin'  out,  an'  sure,  'twas  shtruck 
all  of  a  hape  she  was  whin  she  seen  thim  lilies  ;  an'  now 
I'll  take  me  oath  she's  goin'  to  come  here,  for,  begob, 
she  looks  as  cross  as  nine  highways." 

"  Letter  come,"  chuckled  O'Brien ;  "I'm  ready 
forrer." 

At  this  moment  the  office  door  was  burst  open  with 


"  KING  WILLIAM."  187 

violence,  and  Mrs.  Macfarlane,  in  her  best  Sunday 
costume,  bonnet,  black  gloves,  and  umbrella  included, 
her  face  very  pale  save  the  cheek  bones,  where  two 
bright  pink  spots  burned,  entered  the  room. 

Misther  O'Brien,"  she  said  in  a  high,  stilted  voice 
that  trembled  with  rage,  "  will  yu  please  to  inform  me 
the  meanin'  o  this  dasthardly  outrage  ?  " 

"  Arrah,  what  outrage  are  ye  talkin'  ov  ma'am  ?  " 
asked  O'Brien,  innocently.  "  Sure,  be  the  looks  ov  ye 
I  think  somethin'  has  upset  ye  entirely.  Faith,  ye're 
lookin'  as  angry  as  if  you  were  vexed,  as  the  sayin'  is." 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure.  A  great  wonder,  indeed,  that  I 
should  be  vexed.  '  Crabbit  was  that  cause  had  !  '  ' 
interrupted  Mrs  Macfarlane  with  a  sneer.  "  You're 
not  decavin'  me,  sir.  I'm  not  takin  in  by  yur  pretinces, 
but  if  there's  law  in  the  land,  or  justice,  I'll  have  it  of 
yu." 

"  Would  ye  mind,  ma'am,"  said  O'Brien,  imper- 
turbably,  for  his  superabounding  delight  made  him 
feel  quite  calm  and  superior  to  the  angry  woman — 
"  would  ye  mind  statin'  in  plain  English  what  y're 
talkin'  about  for  not  a  wan  ov  me  knows  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yu  son  of  Judas  !  Oh,  yu  deceivin'  wretch  ! 
As  if  it  wasn't  yu  that  is  afther  desthroyin'  my  flower- 
beds !  " 

"  Ah,  thin,  it  is  y'r  ould  flower-beds  y're  makin'  all 
this  row  about  ?  Y'r  dirty  orange  lilies  '  Sure,  'tis 
clared  out  o'  the  place  they  ought  t've  been  long  ago  for 
weeds.  Tis  mesel'  that's  glad  they're  gone,  an*  so  I 
tell  ye  plump  an'  plain  ;  bud  as  for  me  desthroyin' 
them,  sorra  finger  iver  I  laid  on  thim  ;  I  wouldn't 
demane  mesel'." 

"  An'   if   yu    please,    Misther    O'Brien,"   said    Mrs. 


1 88  HUMOURS  OF  IRISH  LIFE. 

Macfarlane  with  ferocious  politeness,  "  will  yu  kindly 
mintion,  if  yu  did  not  do  the  job,  who  did  ?  " 

"  Faith,  that's  where  the  joke  comes  in,"  said  O'Brien, 
pleasantly.  "  'Twas  the  very  same  baste  that  ruinated 
me  roses,  bad  cess  to  him,  y'r  precious  pet,  '  King 
William  ' !  " 

"  Oh  1  is  it  lavin'  it  on  the  dog  y'are,  yu  traitorous 
Jesuit !  The  puir  wee  dog  that  never  harmed  yu  ? 
Sure,  'tis  only  a  Papist  would  think  of  a  mane  thrick 
like  that  to  shift  the  blame." 

The  colour  rose  to  O'Brien's  face. 

"  Mrs.  Macfarlane,  ma'am,"  he  said,  with  laboured 
civility,  "  wid  yer  permission  we'll  lave  me  religion  out 
o'  this.  Maybe,  if  ye  say  much  more,  I  might  be  losin* 
me  timper  wid  ye." 

"  Much  I  mind  what  yu  lose,"  cried  Mrs.  Macfarlane. 
"  It's  thransported  the  likes  o'  yu  should  be  for  a  set  o' 
robbin',  murderin',  desthroyin',  thraytors." 

"  Have  a  care,  ma'am,  how  yer  spake  to  yer  betthers. 
Robbin',  deceivin',  murdherin',  desthroyin',  thraytors, 
indeed  !  I  like  that !  What  brought  over  the  lot  ov 
yez,  Williamites  an'  Cromwaylians  an'  English  an' 
Scotch,  but  to  rob,  an'  desave,  an'  desthroy,  an'  murdher 
uz,  an'  stale  our  land,  an'  bid  uz  go  to  hell  or  to 
Connaught,  an'  grow  fat  on  what  was  ours  before  iver 
yez  came,  an'  thin  jibe  uz  for  bein'  poor  ?  Thraytors  ! 
Thraytor  yerself,  for  that's  what  the  lot  ov  yez  is.  Who 
wants  yez  here  at  all  ?  " 

Exasperated  beyond  endurance,  Mrs.  Macfarlane 
struck  at  the  stationmaster  with  her  neat  black  umbrella, 
and  had  given  him  a  nasty  cut  across  the  brow,  when 
Kelly  interfered,  as  well  as  Finnerty  and  Mrs.  O'Brien, 
who  rushed  in,  attracted  by  the  noise.  Between  them 


"  KING  WILLIAM."  189 

O'Brien  was  held  back  under  a  shower  of  blows,  and  the 
angry  woman  hustled  outside,  whence  she  retreated 
to  her  own  quarters,  muttering  threats  all  the  way. 

"  Oh,  Jim,  avourneen  !  'tis  bleedin'  y'are,"  shrieked 
poor  anxious  Mary,  wildly.  "  Oh,  wirra,  why  did  ye 
dhraw  her  on  ye  ?  Sure,  Ttould  ye  how  'twould  be. 
As  sure  as  God  made  little  apples  she'll  process  ye,  an' 
she  has  the  quality  on  her  side." 

"  Letter,"  said  Jim  ;  "  much  good  she'll  get  by  it. 
Is  it  makin'  a  liar  ov  me  she'd  be  whin  I  tould  her  I 
didn't  touch  her  ould  lilies  ?  Sure,  I'll  process  her 
back  for  assaultin'  an'  battherin  me.  Ye  all  saw  her, 
an'  me  not  touchin'  her,  the  calliagh  !  "* 

"  Begorra,  'tis  thrue  for  him,"  said  Kelly.  "  She 
flagellated  him  wid  her  umbrelly,  an'  sorra  blow  missed 
bud  the  wan  that  didn't  hit,  and  on'y  I  was  here,  an' 
lit  on  her  suddent,  like  a  bee  on  a  posy,  she'd  have  had 
his  life,  so  she  would." 

Not  for  an  instant  did  Mrs.  Macfarlane  forget  her 
cause  of  offence,  or  believe  O'Brien's  story  that  it  was 
the  dog  that  had  destroyed  her  orange  lilies.  After 
some  consideration  she  hit  on  an  ingenious  device 
that  satisfied  her  as  being  at  once  supremely  annoying 
to  her  enemy  and  well  within  the  law.  Her  lilies, 
emblems  of  the  religious  and  political  faith  that  were 
in  her,  were  gone  ;  but  she  still  had  means  to  testify 
to  her  beliefs,  and  protest  against  O'Brien  and  all  that 
he  represented  to  her  mind. 

Next  day,  when  the  midday  train  had  just  steamed  into 
the  station,  Jim  was  startled  by  hearing  a  wild  cheer — 

"  Hi,  '  King  William  ' !  Hi, '  King  William  '  !  Come 
back,  '  King  William  ' !  '  King  William,'  my  darlin', 
'  King  William  '  1  " 

•Heg 


IQO  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

The  air  rang  with  the  shrill  party  cry,  and  when  Jim 
rushed  out  he  found  that  Mrs.  Macfarlane  had  allowed 
her  dog  to  run  down  the  platform  just  as  the  passengers 
were  alighting,  and  was  now  following  him,  under  the 
pretence  of  calling  him  back.  There  was  nothing  to 
be  done.  The  dog's  name  certainly  was  "  King 
William,"  and  Mrs.  Macfarlane  was  at  liberty  to  recall 
him  if  he  strayed. 

Jim  stood  for  a  moment  like  one  transfixed. 

"  Faith,  I  b'leeve  'tis  the  divil's  grandmother  she 
is,"  he  exclaimed. 

Mrs.  Macfarlane  passed  him  with  a  deliberately 
unseeing  eye.  Had  he  been  the  gate-post,  she  could  not 
have  taken  less  notice  of  his  presence,  as,  having  made  her 
way  to  the  extreme  end  of  the  platform,  cheering  her 
"  King  William,"  she  picked  up  her  dog,  and  marched 
back  in  triumph. 

Speedily  did  it  become  evident  that  Mrs.  Macfarlane 
was  pursuing  a  regular  plan  of  campaign,  for  at  the  arrival 
of  every  train  that  entered  the  station  that  day,  she  went 
through  the  same  performance  of  letting  loose  the  dog 
and  then  pursuing  him  down  the  platform,  waving  her 
arms  and  yelling  for  "  King  William." 

By  the  second  challenge  Jim  had  risen  to  the  situation 
and  formed  his  counterplot.  He  saw  and  heard  her  in 
stony  silence,  apparently  as  indifferent  to  her  tactics 
as  she  to  his  presence,  but  he  was  only  biding  his  time. 
No  sooner  did  passengers  alight  and  enter  the  refresh- 
ment room,  than,  having  just  given  them  time  to  be 
seated,  he  rushed  up,  threw  open  the  door  of  his  enemy's 
headquarters,  and,  putting  in  his  cried,  cried  : — 

"  Take  yer  places,  gintlemin  immaydiately.  The 
thrain's  just  off.  Hurry  up,  will  yez  ?  She's  away  1  " 


"  KING   WILLIAM.'  IQ1 

The  hungry  and  discomfited  passengers  hurried  out. 
pell  mell,  and  Mrs.  Macfarlane  was  left  speechless  with 
indignation. 

"  I  bet  I've  got  the  whip  hand  ov  her  this  time," 
chuckled  Jim,  as  he  gave  the  signal  to  start. 

Mrs.  Macfarlane's  spirit,  however,  was  not  broken. 
From  morning  until  night,  whether  the  day  was  wet  or 
fine,  she  greeted  the  arrival  of  each  train  with  loud  cries 
for  "  King  William,"  and  on  each  occasion  Jim  retorted 
by  bundling  out  all  her  customers  before  they  could 
touch  bite  or  sup. 

The  feud  continued. 

Each  day  Mrs.  Macfarlane,  gaunter,  fiercer,  paler, 
and  more  resolute  in  ignoring  the  stationmaster's  presence, 
flaunted  her  principles  up  and  down  the  platform.  Each 
day  did  Jim  hurry  the  departure  of  the  trains  and  sweep 
off  her  customers.  Never  before  had  there  been  such 
punctuality  known  at  Toomevara,  which  is  situated  on 
an  easy-going  line,  where  usually  the  guard,  when 
indignant  tourists  point  out  that  the  express  is  some 
twenty  minutes'  late,  is  accustomed  to  reply, 

"  Why,  so  she  is.     'Tis  thrue  for  ye." 

One  day,  however,  Mrs.  Macfarlane  did  not  appear. 
She  had  come  out  for  the  first  train,  walking  a  trifle 
feebly,  and  uttering  her  war  cry  in  a  somewhat  quavering 
voice.  When  the  next  came,  no  Mrs.  Macfarlane 
greeted  it. 

Jim  himself  was  perplexed,  and  a  little  aggrieved. 
He  had  grown  used  to  the  daily  strife,  and  missed  the 
excitement  of  retorting  on  his  foe. 

'  Maybe  'tis  tired  of  it  she  is,"  he  speculated.  "  Time 
forrer.  She  knows  now  she  won't  have  things  all  her 
own  way.  She's  too  domineerin'  by  half." 


IQ2  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  What's  wrong  with  the  ould  wan,  sir  ?  "  asked 
Joe  Kelly,  when  he  met  O'Brien  "  She  didn't  shtir 
out  whin  she  hard  the  thrain." 

"  Faith,  I  dunno,"  said  Jim.  "  Hatchin'  more  dis- 
turbance, I'll  bet.  Faith,  she's  like  Conaty's  goose, 
nivir  well  but  whin  she's  doin'  mischief.  Joe,"  he  said, 
"  maybe  y'ought  to  look  in  an'  see  if  anythin'  is  wrong  wid 
th'  ould  wan." 

A  moment  more,  and  Jim  heard  him  shouting, 
"  Misther  O'Brien,  Misther  O'Brien  !  "  He  ran  at 
the  sound.  There,  a  tumbled  heap,  lay  Mrs.  Macfarlane, 
no  longer  a  defiant  virago,  but  a  weak,  sickly,  elderly 
woman,  partly  supported  on  Joe  Kelly's  knee,  her  face 
ghastly  pale,  her  arms  hanging  limp. 

"  Be  me  sowl,  but  I  think  she's  dyin',"  cried  Kelly. 
"  She  just  raised  her  head  whin  she  saw  me,  an'  wint 
off  in  a  faint." 

"  Lay  her  flat,  Joe  ;  lay  her  flat." 

"  Lave  her  to  me,"  he  said,  "  an'  do  you  run  an* 
tell  the  missus  to  come  here  at  wanst.  Maybe  she'll 
know  what  to  do." 

Mary  came  in  to  find  her  husband  gazing  in  a  be- 
wildered fashion  at  his  prostrate  enemy,  and  took 
command  in  a  way  that  excited  his  admiration. 

"  Here,"  said  she,  "  give  uz  a  hand  to  move  her  on 
to  the  seat.  Jim,  run  home  an'  get  Biddy  to  fill  two  or 
three  jars  wid  boilin'  wather,  an'  bring  thim  along  wid 
a  blanket.  She's  as  cowld  as  death.  Joe,  fly  off  wid  yeh 
for  the  docther." 

"  What  docther  will  I  go  for,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  The  first  ye  can  git,"  said  Mary,  promptly  beginning 
to  chafe  the  inanimate  woman's  hands  and  loosen  her 
clothes. 


KING   WILLIAM.  193 

When  the  doctor  came  he  found  Mrs.  Macfarlane  laid 
on  an  impromptu  couch  composed  of  two  of  the 
cushioned  benches  placed  side  by  side.  She  was 
wrapped  in  blankets,  had  hot  bottles  to  her  feet  and 
sides,  nd  a  mus  ard  plaster  over  her  heart. 

"  Bravo  !  Mrs.  O'Brien,"  he  said,  "  I  couldn't  have 
done  better  myself.  I  believe  you  have  saved  her  life 
by  being  so  quick — at  least,  saved  it  for  the  moment, 
for  I  think  she  is  in  for  a  severe  illness.  She  will  want 
careful  nursing  to  pul  her  through." 

"  She  looks  rale  bad,"  assented  Mary. 

"  What  are  we  to  do  with  her  ?  "  said  the  doctor. 
"  Is  there  no  place  where  they  would  take  her  in  ?  " 

Mary  glanced  at  Jim,  but  he  did  not  speak. 

"  Sure,  there's  a  room  in  our  house,"  she  ventured, 
after  an  awkward  pause. 

"  The  very  thing,"  said  the  doctor,  "  if  you  don't 
mind  the  trouble,  and  if  Mr.  O'Brien  does  not  object." 

Jim  made  no  answer,  but  walked  out. 

"  He  doesn't,  docther,"  cried  Mary.  "  Sure,  he  has 
the  rale  good  heart.  I'll  run  off  now,  an'  get  the  bed 
ready." 

As  they  passed  Jim,  who  stood  sulkily  at  the  door,  she 
contrived  to  squeeze  his  hand.  "  God  bless  yeh,  me 
own  Jim.  You'll  be  none  the  worse  forrit.  Tis  no  time 
for  bearin'  malice,  an'  our  Blessed  Lady'll  pray  for  yeh 
this  day." 

Jim  was  silent. 

"  'Tis  a  cruel  shame  she  should  fall  on  uz,"  he  said, 
when  his  wife  had  disappeared  ;  but  he  offered  no 
further  resistance. 

Borne  on  an  impromptu  stretcher  by  Jim,  Joe, 
Finnerty,  and  doctor,  Mrs.  Macfarlane  was  carried  to 

o 


IQ4  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

the  stationmaster's  house,  undressed  by  Mary,  and 
put  to  bed  in  the  spotlessly  clean,  whitewashed  upper 
room. 

The  cold  and  shivering  had  now  passed  off,  and  she 
was  burning.  Nervous  fever,  the  doctor  anticipated. 
She  raved  about  her  dog,  about  Jim,  about  the  passengers, 
her  rent,  and  fifty  other  things  that  made  it  evident  her 
circumstances  had  preyed  upon  her  mind. 

Poor  Mary  was  afraid  of  her  at  times  ;  but  there  are 
no  trained  nurses  at  Toomevara,  and,  guided  by  Doctor 
Doherty's  directions,  she  tried  to  do  her  best,  and 
managed  wonderfully  well. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  Jim  did  not  like  having  the 
invalid  in  the  house.  But  this  did  not  prevent  him  from 
feeling  very  miserable.  He  became  desperately  anxious 
that  Mrs.  Macfarlane  should  not  die,  and  astonished 
Mary  by  bringing  home  various  jellies  and  meat  extracts, 
that  he  fancied  might  be  good  for  the  patient ;  but  he 
did  this  with  a  shy  and  hang-dog  air  by  no  means 
natural  to  him,  and  always  made  some  ungracious  speech 
as  to  the  trouble,  to  prevent  Mary  thinking  he  was  sorry 
for  the  part  he  had  played.  He  replied  with  a  down- 
cast expression  to  all  enquiries  from  outsiders  as  to 
Mrs.  Macfarlane's  health,  but  he  brought  her  dog  into 
the  house  and  fed  it  well. 

"  Not  for  her  sake,  God  knows,"  he  explained  ;  "  but 
bekase  the  poor  baste  was  frettin'  an'  I  cudn't  see  him 
there  wid  no  wan  to  look  to  him." 

He  refused,  however,  to  style  the  animal  "  King 
William,"  and  called  it  "  Billy  "  instead,  a  name  which 
it  soon  learned  to  answer. 

One  evening,  when  the  whitewashed  room  was  all 
aglow  with  crimson  light  that  flooded  through  the 


"  KING  WILLIAM."  IQ5 

western  window,  Mrs.  Macfarlane  returned  to  conscious- 
ness. Mary  was  sitting  by  the  bedside,  sewing,  having 
sent  out  the  children  in  charge  of  Kitty  to  secure  quiet 
in  the  house.  For  a  long  time,  unobserved  by  her 
nurse,  the  sick  woman  lay  feebly  trying  to  understand. 
Suddenly  she  spoke — 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

Mary  jumped. 

"  To  be  sure,"  she  said,  laying  down  her  needlework, 
"  'tis  very  bad  you  were  intirely,  ma'am  ;  but,  thanks 
be  to  God,  you're  betther  now." 

"  Where  am  I  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Macfarlane,  after  a 
considerable  pause. 

"  In  the  station  house,  ma'am.  Sure,  don't  ye  know 
me  ?  I'm  Mary  O'Brien." 

"  Mary  O'Brien— O'Brien  ?  " 

"  Yis,  faith  !     Jim  O'Brien's  wife.' 

"  An'  this  is  Jim  O'Brien's  house  ?  " 

"  Whose  else  id  it  be  ?  But  there  now,  don't  talk 
anny  more.  Sure,  we'll  tell  ye  all  about  it  whin  y're 
betther.  The  docthor  sez  y're  to  be  kep'  quiet." 

"  But  who  brought  me  here  ?  " 

"  Troth,  'twas  carried  in  ye  were,  an'  you  near  dyin'. 
Hush  up  now,  will  ye  ?  Take  a  dhrop  o'  this,  an' 
thry  to  go  to  shleep." 

When  Jim  came  into  his  supper  his  wife  said  to  him, 
"  That  craythure  upstairs  is  mad  to  get  away.  She 
thinks  we  begrudge  her  the  bit  she  ates." 

Jim  was  silent.  Then  he  said,  "  Sure,  annythin' 
that's  bad  she'll  b'leeve  ov  uz." 

"  But  ye've  nivir  been  up  to  see  her.  Shlip  into  the 
room  now,  an'  ax  her  how  she's  goin'  on.  Let  bygones 
be  bygones,  in  the  name  of  God." 


196  HUMOURS  OF  IRISH  LIFE. 

"  I  won't,"  said  Jim. 

"  Oh,  yes,  ye  will.  Sure,  afther  all,  though  ye  didn't 
mane  it,  ye're  the  cause  ov  it.  Go  to  her  now." 

"  I  don't  like." 

"Ah,  go.  Tis  yer  place,  an'  you  sinsibler  than  she 
is.  Go  an'  tell  her  to  shtay  till  she's  well.  Faith,  I 
think  that  undher  all  that  way  of  hers  she's  softher  than 
she  looks.  I  tell  ye,  Jim,  I  seen  her  cryin'  over  the  dog, 
bekase  she  thought  'twas  th'  only  thing  that  loved  her." 

Half  pushed  by  Mary,  Jim  made  his  way  up  the 
steep  stair,  and  knocked  at  the  door  of  Mrs.  Macfarlane's 
attic. 

"  Come  in,"  said  a  feeble  voice,  and  he  stumbled  into 
the  room. 

When  Mrs.  Macfarlane  saw  who  it  was,  a  flame  lit  in 
her  hollow  eyes. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  she  said,  with  grim  politeness,  "  that 
yu  find  me  here,  Misther  O'Brien  ;  but  it  isn't  my 
fault.  I  wanted  tu  go  a  while  ago,  an*  your  wife  wouldn't 
let  me." 

"  An*  very  right  she  was  ;  you're  not  fit  for  it.  Sure, 
don't  be  talkin'  ov  goin'  till  ye're  better,  ma'am,"  said 
Jim,  awkwardly.  "  Y're  heartily  welcome  for  me. 
I  come  up  to  say — to  say,  I  hope  y'll  be  in  no  hurry  to 
move." 

"  Yu're  very  good,  but  it's  not  to  be  expected  I'd 
find  myself  easy  under  this  roof,  where,  I  can  assure  yu, 
I'd  never  have  come  of  my  own  free  will  ;  an'  I  apologise 
to  yu,  Misther  O'Brien,  for  givin'  so  much  trouble — 
not  that  I  could  help  myself." 

"  Sure,  'tis  I  that  should  apologise,"  blurted  out 
Jim  ;  "  an'  rale  sorry  I  am — though,  maybe,  ye  won't 
b'lieve  me — that  I  ever  dhruv  the  customers  out." 


KING  WILLIAM."  197 

For  a  long  time  Mrs.  Macfarlane  did  not  speak. 

"  I  could  forgive  that  easier  than  your  rootin'  up  my 
lilies,"  she  said,  in  a  strained  voice. 

"  But  that  I  never  did.  God  knows  an'  sees  me  this 
night,  an'  He  knows  that  I  never  laid  a  finger  on  thim. 
I  kem  out,  an'  foun'  the  dog  there  scrattin'  at  thim,  an' 
if  this  was  me  last  dyin'  worrd,  'tis  thrue." 

"  An'  'twas  really  the  wee  dog  ?  " 

"  It  was,  though  I  done  wrong  in  laughin'  at  him, 
an'  cheerin'  him  on  ;  but,  sure,  ye  wouldn't  mind  me 
whin  I  told  ye  he  was  at  me  roses,  an'  I  thought  it  sarved 
ye  right,  an'  that  ye  called  him  '  King  William  '  to  spite 
me." 

"  So  I  did,"  said  Mrs.  Macfarlane,  and,  she  added, 
more  gently,  "  I'm  sorry  now." 

"  Are  ye  so  ?  "  said  Jim,  brightening.  "  Faith,  I'm 
glad  to  hear  ye  say  it.  We  was  both  in  the  wrong,  ye 
see,  an'  if  you  bear  no  malice,  I  don't." 

"  Yu  have  been  very  good  to  me,  seein'  how  I  mis- 
judged you,"  said  Mrs.  Macfarlane. 

"  Not  a  bit  ov  it ;  an'  'twas  the  wife  anyhow,  for, 
begorra,  I  was  hardened  against  ye,  so  I  was." 

"  An'  yu've  spent  yer  money  on  me,  an'  I " 

"  Sure,  don't  say  a  worrd  about  id.  I  owed  it  to  you, 
so  I  did,  but,  begorra,  ye  won't  have  to  complain  ov 
wantin'  custom  wanst  yer  well." 

Mrs.  Macfarlane  smiled  wanly. 

"  No  chance  o'  that,  I'm  afraid.  What  with  my 
illness  an'  all  that  went  before  it,  business  is  gone. 
Look  at  the  place  shut  up  this  three  weeks  an'  more." 

"  Not  it,"  said  Jim  "  Sure,  sence  y've  been  sick 
I  put  our  little  Kitty,  the  shlip,  in  charge  of  the  place, 
an'  she's  made  a  power  o'  money  for  ye,  an'  she  on'y 


198  HUMOURS   OF  IRISH   LIFE. 

risin'  sixteen,  an*  havin'  to  help  her  mother  an'  all. 
She's  a  clever  girl,  so  she  is,  though  I  sez  it,  an'  she 
ruz  the  prices  all  round.  She  couldn't  manage  with 
the  cakes,  not  knowin'  how  to  bake  thim  like  yerself ; 
but  sure  I  bought  her  plenty  ov  biscuits  at  Connolly's  ; 
and  her  mother  cut  her  sandwidges,  an'  made  tay,  an' 
the  dhrinks  was  all  there  as  you  left  them,  an'  Kitty 
kep'  count  ov  all  she  sould." 

Mrs  Macfarlane  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  queerly 
hen  she  drew  the  sheet  over  her  face,  and  began  to 
sob. 

Jim,  feeling  wretchedly  uncomfortable,  crept  down- 
stairs. 

"  Go  to  the  craythure,  Mary,"  he  said.  "  Sure,  she's 
cryin'.  We've  made  it  up — an'  see  here,  let  her  want 
for  nothin'." 

Mary  ran  upstairs,  took  grim  Mrs  Macfarlane  in  her 
arms,  and  actually  kissed  her  ;  and  Mrs.  Macfarlane's 
grimness  melted  away,  and  the  two  women  cried  together 
for  sympathy. 

###**# 

Now,  as  the  trains  come  into  Toomevara  station,  Jim 
goes  from  carriage  to  carriage  making  himself  a  perfect 
nuisance  to  passengers  with  well-filled  luncheon  baskets. 
"  Won't  ye  have  a  cup  o'  tay,  me  lady  ?  There's  plinty 
ov  time,  an'  sure,  we've  the  finest  tay  here  that  you'll 
get  on  the  line.  There's  nothin'  like  it  this  side  o' 
Dublin  ;  A  glass  o'  whiskey,  sir  ?  'Tis  on'y  the  best 
John  Jameson  that's  kep',  or  sherry  wine  ?  Ye  won't 
be  shtoppin  agin  annywheres  that  you'll  like  it  as  well. 
Sure,  if  ye  don't  want  to  get  out— though  there's  plinty 
o'  time — I'll  give  the  ordher  an'  have  it  sent  over  to  yez. 
Cakes,  ma'am,  for  the  little  ladies  ?  'Tis  a  long  journey, 


"  KING  WILLIAM."  199 

an'  maybe  they'll  be  hungry — an  apples  ?  Apples  is 
mighty  good  for  childher.  She  keeps  fine  apples  if 
ye  like  thim." 

Mrs.  Macfarlane  has  grown  quite  fat,  is  at  peace  with 
all  mankind,  takes  the  deepest  interest  in  the  O  Brien 
family,  and  calls  her  dog  "  Billy." 


20O  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

Quin's   Rick. 

From  "  Doings  and  Dealings" 
BY  JANE  BARLOW. 

CLEAR  skies  and  gentle  breezes  had  so  favoured  Hugh 
Lennon's  harvesting  that  his  threshing  was  all  safely 
done  by  the  first  week  in  October,  and  as  the  fine  weather 
still  continued,  he  took  his  wife,  according  to  promise, 
for  a  ten  days'  stay  at  the  seaside.  Mrs.  Hugh  was 
rather  young  and  rather  pretty,  and  much  more  than 
rather  short-tempered.  The  neighbours  often  remarked 
that  they  would  not  be  in  Hugh  Lennon's  coat  for  a 
great  deal — at  times  specifying  very  considerable  sums. 

From  her  visit  to  Warrenpoint,  however,  she  returned 
home  in  high  good  humour,  and  ran  gaily  upstairs  to 
remove  her  flowery  hat,  announcing  that  she  would  do 
some  fried  eggs,  Hugh's  favourite  dish,  for  their  tea. 
Hence,  he  was  all  the  more  disconcerted  when,  as  he 
followed  her  along  the  little  passage,  she  suddenly 
wheeled  round  upon  him,  and  confronted  him  with  a 
countenance  full  of  wrath.  She  had  merely  been  looking 
for  a  moment  out  of  the  small  end  window,  and  why, 
in  the  name  of  fortune,  marvelled  Hugh,  should  that 
have  put  her  in  one  of  her  tantrums  ?  But  it  evidently 
had  done  so.  "  Saw  you  ever  the  like  of  that  ?  "  she 
demanded  furiously,  pointing  through  the  window. 

"  The  like  of  what  at  all  ?  "  said  Hugh. 

"  Look  at  it,"  said  Mrs.  Hugh,  and  drummed  with  the 
point  of  her  umbrella  on  a  pane. 

Hugh  looked,  and  saw,  conspicuous  at  a  short 
distance  beyond  their  backyard,  a  portly  rick  of  straw, 
which  their  neighbour,  Peter  Quin,  had  nearly  finished 


QUIN'S  RICK.  201 

building.  A  youth  was  tumbling  himself  about  on 
top  of  it  with  much  agility,  and  shouting  "  Pull  !  "  at 
each  floundering  fall.  "  Sure,"  said  Hugh,  "  it's 
nothing,  only  young  Jim  Quin  leppin'  their  rick." 

"  I  wisht  he'd  break  every  bone  in  his  ugly  body, 
then,  while  he's  at  it,"  declared  Mrs.  Hugh. 

"  It's  a  quare  wish  to  be  wishin'  agin  the  poor,  decent 
lad,"  said  her  husband,  "  and  he  lepping  plenty  of  ricks 
for  ourselves  before  now." 

"  And  what  call  have  they  to  be  cocking  up  e'er  a 
one  there,"  said  Mrs.  Hugh,  "  where  there  was  never 
such  a  thing  seen  till  this  day  ?  " 

"  Why  wouldn't  they  ?  "  said  Hugh.  "  It's  a  handy 
place  enough  for  a  one,  I  should  say,  there  on  the  bit 
of  a  headland." 

"  How  handy  it  is  !  "  said  his  wife,  "  and  it  shutting 
out  the  gap  in  the  fence  on  me  that  was  the  only  glimpse 
I  had  into  our  lane." 

"  Well,  supposing  it  does,  where 's  the  odds  ?  "  said 
Hugh.  "  There's  ne'er  a  much  in  the  lane  for  anybody 
to  be  glimpsing  at." 

"  The  greatest  convenience  in  the  world  it  was," 
declared  Mrs.  Hugh,  "to  be  able  to  see  you  crossing 
it  of  a  morning,  and  you  coming  in  from  the  lower 
field,  the  way  I  could  put  the  bit  of  bacon  down  ready 
for  the  breakfast." 

"  Musha,  good  gracious,  woman  alive,  if  that's  all's 
ailing  you,  where's  the  need  to  be  so  exact  ?  "  said 
Hugh. 

"  Exact,  is  it  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Hugh.  "  Maybe  you'd 
like  to  have  the  whole  of  it  melted  away  into  grease 
with  being  set  on  the  fire  half  an  hour  too  soon.  Or 
else  you  to  be  standing  about  open-mouthed  under  me 


202  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

feet,  like  a  starving  terrier,  waiting  till  it's  fit  to  eat. 
That's  how  it'll  be,  anyway,  like  it  or  lump  it.  And 
I  used  to  be  watching  for  old  Matty  Flanaghan  going 
by  with  the  post-bag,  and  the  Keoghs  coming  back 
from  early  Mass — 'twas  as  good  as  an  extra  clock  for 
telling  the  time.  But  now,  with  that  big  lump  of  a 
thing  stuck  there,  I  might  as  well  be  shut  up  inside  of 
any  old  prison.  Them  Quins  done  it  a-purpose  to  annoy 
me,  so  they  did.  Sorra  another  raison  had  they,  for 
what  else  'ud  make  them  take  and  build  it  behind  our 
backs?  But  put  up  with  it  is  what  I  won't  do.  Stepping 
over  to  them  I'll  be  this  night,  and  letting  them  know  how 
little  1  think  of  themselves  and  their  mean  tricks.  And 
if  I  see  old  Peter,  I'll  tell  him  you'll  have  the  law  of 
him  unless  he  gets  it  cleared  away  out  of  that  to-morrow. 
Bedad  will  I  ;  and  yourself  'ud  say  the  same,  if  you  had 
as  much  spirit  in  you  as  a  moulting  chicken." 

"  Have  sense,  Julia,"  Hugh  remonstrated,  wedging 
in  a  protest  with  difficulty.  "  Stop  where  you  are, 
now,  quiet  and  peaceable.  It's  only  making  a  show 
of  yourself  you'd  be,  running  out  that  way  raging  about 
nothing  What  foolish  talk  have  you  about  the  man 
moving  his  rick,  that  he's  just  after  building  ?  You 
might  as  well  be  bidding  him  move  Knockrinkin  over 
yonder  ;  and  he  more  betoken  with  his  haggart  bursting 
full  this  minyit.  What  annoyance  is  there  in  the 
matter,  Julia  woman  ?  Sure  in  any  case  it  won't  be 
any  great  while  standing  there,  you  may  depend,  and 
they  bedding  cattle  with  it,  let  alone  very  belike  sending 
in  cartloads  of  it  every  week  to  the  market.  Just  content 
yourself  and  be  aisy." 

But,  as  he  had  more  than  half  expected,  Hugh  spoke 
to  no  purpose.  His  wife  would  not  be  said  by  him, 


QUIN'S  RICK.  203 

and  his  expostulations,  in  fact,  merely  hastened  her 
impetuous  departure  on  her  visit  to  the  Quins.  She 
returned  even  more  exasperated  than  she  had  set  out, 
and  from  her  report  of  the  interview  Hugh  gathered 
that  she  had  stormed  with  much  violence,  giving  every- 
body "  the  height  of  abuse."  He  was  fain  to  console 
himself  with  the  rather  mortifying  reflection  that  "  the 
Quins  knew  well  enough  she  did  be  apt  to  take  up  with 
quare  nonsensical  fantigues,  that  nobody  minded." 

A  hope  that  the  morrow  might  find  her  more  reasonable 
proved  entirely  vain,  as  many  additional  grievances, 
resented  with  increasing  bitterness,  had  been  evolved 
during  the  night.  When  Hugh  went  out  to  his  work, 
he  left  her  asserting,  and  believing,  that  the  noise  of  the 
wind  whistling  round  the  rick  hadn't  let  her  get  a  wink 
of  sleep,  and  when  he  came  in  again  he  found  her  on 
the  point  of  setting  off  to  the  police  barracks  that  she 
might  charge  the  Quins  with  having  "  littered  her  yard 
all  over  with  wisps  of  straw  blown  off  their  hijjis  old 
rick,  till  the  unfortunate  hens  couldn't  see  the  ground 
under  their  feet."  This  outrage,  it  appeared,  had  been 
aggravated  by  Micky  Quinn,  who  remarked  tauntingly, 
that  "  she  had  a  right  to  feel  herself  obligated  to  them 
for  doing  her  a  fine  piece  of  thatching  "  ;  and  an  inter- 
change of  similar  rejoinders  had  taken  place.  On  the 
present  occasion  Hugh  was  indeed  able  forcibly  to  stop 
her  wild  expedition  by  locking  both  the  house  doors. 
But  as  he  knew  that  these  strong  measures  could  not  be 
more  than  a  temporary  expedient,  and  as  arguments 
were  very  bootless,  he  was  at  a  loss  to  determine  what 
he  should  do  next.  She  had  begun  to  drop  such 
menacing  hints  about  lighted  matches  and  rags  soaked 
in  paraffin,  that  he  felt  loth  to  leave  her  at  large  within 


204  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

reach  of  those  dangerous  materials.  Already  it  had  come 
to  his  knowledge  that  rumours  were  afloat  in  the  village 
about  how  Mrs.  Lennon  was  threatening  to  burn  down  the 
Quin's  rick.  The  truth  was  that  she  had  said  as  much 
to  several  calling  neighbours  in  the  course  of  that  day. 

Hugh's  perplexity  was  therefore  not  a  little  relieved 
when,  early  on  the  following  morning,  his  wife's  eldest 
married  sister,  Mrs.  Mackay,  from  beyond  Kilcraig, 
looked  in  on  her  way  to  market.  Mrs.  Mackay,  an 
energetic  person  with  a  strong  will  regulated  by  abundant 
common  sense,  was  one  among  the  few  people  of  whom 
her  flighty  sister  Julia  stood  in  awe.  In  this  emergency 
her  own  observations,  together  with  her  brother-in-law's 
statements,  soon  showed  her  how  matters  stood,  and  she 
promptly  decided  what  steps  to  take.  "  Our  best  plan," 
she  said  to  Hugh  apart,  "  is  for  Julia  to  come  along 
home  with  me.  She'll  be  out  of  the  way  there  of  aught 
to  stir  up  her  mind,  and  she  can  stop  till  she  gets  pacified 
again.  'Twill  be  no  great  while  before  she's  glad  enough 
to  come  back  here,  rick  or  no  rick,  you  may  depend  ; 
for  we're  all  through-other  up  at  our  place  the  now, 
with  one  of  the  childer  sick,  and  ne'er  a  girl  kept.  I'll 
give  her  plenty  to  do  helping  me,  and  it's  much  if  she 
won't  be  very  soon  wishing  she  was  at  home  in  her 
own  comfortable  house.  She  doesn't  know  when  she's 
well  off,  bedad,"  Mrs.  Mackay  added,  glancing  half 
enviously  round  the  tidy  little  kitchen. 

Hugh  fell  in  with  her  views  at  once.  The  Mackays 
lived  a  couple  of  miles  at  the  other  side  of  Kilcraig, 
so  that  Julia  would  be  safely  out  of  harm's  way,  and  he 
could  trust  her  sister  to  keep  her  from  doing 
anything  disastrously  foolish.  So  he  cheerfully  saw 
his  wife  depart,  and  though  her  last  words  were  a 


QUIN  S   RICK  205 

vehement  asseveration  that  she  would  "  never  set  foot 
next  or  nigh  the  place  again,  as  long  as  there  did  be 
two  straws  slanting  together  in  Quin's  dirty  old  rick," 
he  confidently  expected  to  see  her  there  once  more 
without  much  delay. 

Up  at  the  Mackay's  struggling  farmstead  on  the  side 
of  Knockrinkin,  Mrs.  Hugh  found  things  dull  enough. 
Internally  the  house  was  incommodious  and  crowded 
to  uncomfortable  excess,  and  its  surroundings  externally 
were  desolate  and  lonesome.  Mrs.  Hugh  remarked 
discontentedly  that  if  the  inside  and  outside  of  it  were 
mixed  together,  they'd  be  better  off,  anyway,  for  room 
to  turn  round  in,  and  quiet  to  hear  themselves  speak  ; 
but  the  operation  appeared  impracticable.  Nor  were  the 
domestic  tasks  with  which  Mrs.  Mackay  provided  her 
by  any  means  to  her  taste,  and  her  discontent  continued. 
One  evening,  shortly  after  her  arrival,  she  grew  so 
tired  of  hearing  the  children  squabble  and  squawl,  that 
as  soon  as  supper  was  over  she  slipped  out  at  the  back 
door  into  the  soft-aired  twilight.  She  proposed  to  wile 
away  some  time  by  searching  the  furzy,  many-bouldered 
field  for  mushrooms  and  blackberries,  but  neither  could 
she  find,  and  in  her  quest  she  wandered  a  long  way  down 
the  swarded  slope,  until  she  came  to  a  low  boundary 
wall.  There  she  stopped,  and  stood  looking  across  the 
valley  towards  a  wooden  patch  beyond  the  village, 
which  contained  her  own  dwelling,  as  well  as  that  of  the 
hateful  Quins.  Her  wrath  against  them  burned  more 
fiercely  than  ever  at  the  reflection  that  they  were  clearly 
to  blame  for  her  present  tedious  exile.  The  thought 
of  going  home,  she  said  to  herself,  she  couldn't  abide, 
by  reason  of  their  old  rick. 

Through  the  dusk,  the  darker  mass  of  those  trees 


206  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

loomed  indistinctly  like  a  stain  on  the  dimness,  and 
Mrs.  Hugh  fancied  that  she  could  make  out  just  the 
site  of  the  Quin's  rick — the  best  of  bad  luck  to  it.  Why 
didn't  some  decent  tramp  take  and  sling  a  spark  of  a 
lighted  match  into  it,  and  he  passing  by  with  his  pipe  ? 
As  she  strained  her  eyes  towards  it,  she  suddenly  saw 
on  the  very  spot  the  glimmer  of  a  golden-red  light, 
glancing  out  among  the  shadowy  trees.  For  a  moment 
she  was  startled  and  half  scared,  but  then  she  remembered 
that  it  would  be  nothing  more  than  the  harvest  moon 
rising  up  big  through  the  mist.  Hadn't  she  seen  it 
the  night  before  looking  the  size  of  ten  ?  This  explana- 
tion, at  least,  half  disappointed  her,  and  she  said  to 
herself  with  dissatisfaction,  watching  the  gleam  waver  and 
brighten,  that  it  looked  as  red  as  fire,  and  she  wished  to 
goodness  it  was  the  same  as  it  looked.  "  There'd  be 
nothing  aisier  than  setting  the  whole  concern  in  a  blaze 
standing  so  convanient  to  the  road,"  she  thought,  while 
she  gazed  and  gazed  with  tantalised  vindictiveness 
over  the  low,  tumble-down  wall. 

More  than  two  hours  later  Mrs.  Hugh  Lennon  came 
hurrying  in  at  the  Mackay's  back-door.  By  this  time 
it  was  dark  night  outside,  and  she  found  only  Mrs. 
Mackay  in  the  kitchen,  for  himself  and  the  children 
had  gone  to  bed. 

"  Where  in  the  world  have  you  been  all  the  evening  ?  " 
Mrs.  Mackay  inquired,  with  some  indignation.  "  Leaving 
me  with  nobody  to  give  me  a  hand  with  the  childer  or 
anything,  and  keeping  me  now  waiting  up  till  every  hour 
of  the  night." 

"  Quin's  rick's  burnt  down,"  burst  out  Mrs.  Hugh, 
who  evidently  had  not  heard  a  word  of  her  sister's 


QUIN'S  RICK.  207 

remonstrance.  She  looked  excited  and  exultant ;  her 
hair  was  roughened  by  the  wind,  and  her  skirts  were 
bedraggled  with  a  heavy  dew  brushed  off  tussocks  and 
furze  bushes.  Mrs.  Mackay  eyed  her  with  a  start  of 
vague  suspicion 

"  And  who  did  you  get  that  news  from,"  she  said, 
"  supposing  it's  true  ?  " 

"  Amn't  I  after  seeing  it  with  me  own  eyes  ?  " 
triumphed  Mrs.  Hugh.  "  Watching  it  blazing  this 
long  while  down  below  there  by  Connolly's  fence. 
First  of  all  I  thought  it  was  only  the  old  moon  rising, 
that  would  do  us  no  good  ;  but  sure  not  at  all,  glory 
be  !  Burnt  down  to  the  ground  it  is,  every  grain  of  it  ; 
and  serve  them  very  right." 

"  What  took  you  trapesing  off  down  there,  might  I 
ask  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Mackay,  her  scrutiny  of  her  sister 
growing  more  mistrustful. 

"  Is  it  what  took  me  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Hugh.  "  I  dunno 
rightly.  Och,  let  me  see  ;  about  getting  some  mush- 
rooms I  was,  I  believe,  and  blackberries." 

"  A  likely  time  of  night  it  was  to  be  looking  for  such 
things,"  said  Mrs.  Mackay,"  and  a  dale  of  them  you  got." 

"  There  isn't  a  one  in  it ;  all  of  them's  as  red  as  coals 
of  fire  yet,  or  else  as  green  as  grass — sure,  what  matter  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Hugh.  "  Anyway,  I  was  took  up  with 
watching  the  baste  of  an  old  rick  flaring  itself  into 
flitters  ;  and  a  rale  good  job." 

"  A  job  it  is  that  you're  very  apt  to  have  raison  to 
repent  of,"  Mrs.  Mackay  said  severely,  "  if  so  be  you  had 
act  or  part  in  it." 

"  Is  it  me  ?  "  Mrs.  Hugh  said,  and  laughed  derisively. 
"  Raving  you  are,  if  that's  your  notion.  A  great  chance 
I'd  have  to  be  meddling  or  making  with  it,  and  I  stuck 


208  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

up  here  out  of  reach  of  everything.  I  only  wisht  I'd 
been  at  our  own  place  to  get  a  better  sight." 

"  How  can  I  tell  what  chances  you  have  or  haven't, 
and  you  after  running  wild  through  the  country  for 
better  than  a  couple  of  hours  ?  "  Mrs.  Mackay  said. 
"  Plenty  of  time  had  you  for  the  matter,  to  be  skyting 
there  and  back  twice  over,  if  you  was  up  to  any  sort  of 
mischief ;  let  alone  going  about  talking  and  threatening, 
and  carrying  on,  till  everybody  in  the  parish  is  safe  to 
be  of  the  opinion  yourself  was  contriving  it  with  whoever 
done  it,  supposing  you  didn't  do  it  all  out.  And  it's 
the  quare  trouble  you  might  very  aisy  get  yourself  into 
for  that  same,  let  me  tell  you.  There  was  a  man  at 
Joe's  place  that  got  three  years  for  being  concerned  in 
setting  a  light  to  a  bit  of  an  old  shed,  no  size  to  speak  of  ; 
so,  if  the  next  thing  we  see  of  you  is  walking  off  between 
a  pair  of  police  constables,  yourself  you'll  have  to 
thank  for  it.  I  only  hope  poor  Hugh  won't  be  blaming  me 
for  letting  you  out  of  me  sight  this  evening." 

"  Och,  good  luck  to  yourself  and  your  polis !  " 
Mrs.  Hugh  said,  defiantly.  "  It's  little  I  care  who  lit  the 
old  rick,  and  its  little  I  care  what  any  people's  troubling 
theirselves  to  think  about  it.  I'd  liefer  be  after  doing 
it  than  not — so  there's  for  you.  But  what  I  won't  do 
is  stop  here  listening  to  your  fool's  romancing.  So 
good-night  to  you  kindly." 

With  that  Mrs.  Hugh  flounced  clattering  up  the 
little  steep  stairs,  and  hurled  herself  like  a  compressed 
earthquake-wave  into  her  bedroom.  Mrs.  Mackay, 
following  her,  stumped  along  more  slowly.  "  Goodness 
forgive  me  for  saying  so,"  she  reflected,  "  but  Julia's 
a  terrific  woman  to  have  any  doings  or  dealings  with. 
She's  not  to  hold  or  bind  when  she  takes  the  notion, 


QUIN  S   RICK.  209 

and  the  dear  knows  what  she's  been  up  to  now  ;  some- 
thing outrageous  most  likely.  The  Lord  Chief  Justice 
himself  couldn't  control  her.  Beyond  me  she  is 
entirely." 

Nevertheless,  her  warnings  were  not  without  effect, 
and  at  their  next  interview,  she  found  her  sister  in  a 
meeker  mood. 

It  was  when  Mrs.  Mackay  was  in  the  cowhouse 
milking,  before  breakfast,  that  Julia  appeared  to  her, 
hurrying  in  with  a  demeanour  full  of  dismay.  "  Och, 
Bridgie,  what  will  I  do  ?  "  she  said. 

"  What's  happint  you  now  ?  "  Bridgie  replied,  with 
a  studied  want  of  sympathy. 

"  I'm  just  after  looking  out  of  me  window,"  Julia 
said,  "  and  there's  two  of  the  polis  out  of  the  barracks 
below  standing  at  the  roadgate,  having  great  discoursing 
with  Dan  Molloy,  and  about  coming  into  this  place 
they  are.  Ne'er  a  bit  of  me  knows  what's  bringing 
them  so  outlandish  early  ;  but  I'll  take  me  oath,  Bridgie 
darlint,  I'd  nought  to  do,  good  or  bad,  with  burning  the 
rick.  It  might  ha'  went  on  fire  of  itself.  Hand  nor 
part  I  hadn't  in  it.  So  you  might  be  telling  them  that 
to  your  certain  knowledge  I  was  up  here  the  whole  time, 
and  sending  them  about  their  business — there's  a  good 
woman." 

On  further  reflection  Mrs.  Mackay  had  already 
concluded  that  Julia  probably  was  not  guilty  of 
incendiarism  ;  still,  she  considered  her  sister's  alarmed 
state  a  favourable  opportunity  for  a  lesson  on  the 
expediency  of  behaving  herself.  Therefore  she  was 
careful  to  give  no  reassuring  response. 

"  'Deed,  now,  I  dunno  what  to  say  to  it  all,"  she 
declared,  "  and  I  couldn't  take  it  on  me  conscience  to 


210  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

go  swear  in  a  court  of  justice  that  I  knew  where  you 
might  be  yesterday  late.  More  betoken  there  was  the 
bad  talk  you  had  out  of  you  about  the  Quins  before  you 
come  here,  that  they'll  be  bringing  up  agin  you  now, 
you  may  depend.  An  ugly  appearance  it  has,  sure 
enough,  the  two  of  them  coming  over  at  this  hour. 
As  headstrong  you  are  as  a  cross-tempered  jennet  ; 
but  if  you'll  take  my  advice  you'll  keep  yourself  out  of 
their  sight  the  best  way  you  can,  till  I  see  what  they  want 
with  you,  and  then  if  it's  a  warrant  they've  got,  I  might 
try  persuade  them  to  go  look  for  you  somewheres  else. 
That's  the  best  I  can  do,  and,  of  course,  1  can't  say 
whether  they  will  or  no,  but  maybe — 

For  a  wonder  Mrs.  Hugh  did  take  this  advice,  and  most 
promptly,  rushing  with  a  suppressed  wail  out  of  the 
cowhouse  and  into  a  shed  close  by,  where  she  crouched 
behind  a  heap  of  hay,  the  first  hiding-place  that  presented 
itself  to  her  in  her  panic.  She  had  spent  a  great  part 
of  the  past  night  in  meditation  on  her  sister's  alarming 
statements  ;  and  now  the  ominous  arrival  of  the  police 
put  a  finishing  touch  to  her  fright.  How  was  she  to 
escape  from  them,  or  to  exculpate  herself  ?  Bridgie 
evidently  either  could  or  would  do  little  or  nothing. 
At  this  dreadful  crisis  in  her  affairs  her  thoughts  turned 
longingly  towards  her  own  house  down  below,  where 
there  was  Hugh,  poor  man,  who  would  certainly  have, 
somehow,  prevented  her  from  being  dragged  off  to 
Athmoran  gaol,  even  if  he  did  believe  her  to  have 
burnt  the  rick.  Through  the  dusty  shed  window 
she  saw  two  dark,  flat-capped,  short-caped  figures 
sauntering  up  to  the  front  door,  whereupon  with  a  sudden 
desperate  impulse,  she  stole  out,  and  fled  down  the  cart- 
track  along  which  they  had  just  come.  Getting  a  good 


QUIN'S  RICK.  211 

start  of  them,  she  said  to  herself,  she  might  be  at  home 
again  with  Hugh  before  they  could  overtake  her — and 
one  of  them,  she  added,  as  fat  as  a  prize  pig. 

As  Mrs.  Hugh  ran  most  of  the  road's  two  long  miles, 
she  was  considerably  out  of  breath  when  she  came 
round  a  turn  which  brought  into  view  an  expected  and 
an  unexpected  object.  The  one  was  Hugh  walking  out 
of  his  own  gate,  the  other  Quin's  rick,  still  rearing  its 
glistening  yellow  ridge  into  the  sunshine. 

"  Well,  now,  Julia  woman,  and  is  it  yourself  ?  " 
Hugh  said,  as  she  darted  across  the  road  to  him. 
"  What's  took  you  to  be  tearing  along  at  that  rate,  and 
without  so  much  as  a  shawl  over  your  head  ?  " 

"  Thinking  I  was  to  meet  you  before  this — kilt  I  am, 
running  all  the  way,"  she  said,  panting.  "  And  I  do 
declare  there's  the  big  rick  in  it  yet." 

Hugh's  face  fell.  "  Whethen  now,  if  it's  with  the 
same  old  blathers  you're  come  back,"  he  said,  in  a 
disgusted  tone,  "  there  was  no  need  for  you  to  be  in 
any  such  great  hurry." 

"  Ne'er  a  word  was  I  going  to  say  agin  it  at  all,"  said 
his  wife,  "  and  I  making  sure  the  constables  would 
be  after  me  every  minyit  for  burning  it  down." 

"  What  the  mischief  put  that  notion  in  your  head  ?  " 
said  Hugh. 

"  I  seen  the  blaze  of  a  great  fire  down  here  last  night," 
she  said,  "  and  I  thought  it  would  be  Quin's  rick,  and 
they  knowing  I  had  some  talk  about  it." 

"  Sure  'twas  just  the  big  heap  of  dead  branches  and 
old  trunks,"  said  Hugh,  "  that's  lying  at  the  end  of  the 
cow-lane  ever  since  the  big  wind.  It  took  and  went  on 
fire  yesterday  evening  ;  raison  good,  there  was  a  cartful 
of  Wexford  tinkers  went  by  in  the  afternoon,  and  stopped 


212  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

to  boil  their  kettle  close  under  it.  A  fine  flare-up  it 
made,  and  it  as  dry  as  tinder  ;  but  I'd  scarce  ha'  thought 
you'd  see  it  that  far.  Lucky  it  is  the  old  sticks  was  fit 
for  nothing  much,  unless  some  poor  bodies  may  be  at 
a  loss  for  firewood  this  next  winter.  Come  along  in, 
Julia,  and  wet  yourself  a  cup  of  tay.  You'd  a  right  to 
be  tired  trotting  about  that  way.  And  as  for  the  polis, 
bedad,  they'd  have  their  own  work  cut  out  for  them,  if 
they  was  to  be  taking  up  everybody  they  heard  talking 
foolish." 

Not  long  after  Mrs.  Hugh  had  finished  her  cup, 
Mrs.  Mackay  arrived,  alighting  flurriedly  from  a 
borrowed  seat  on  a  neighbour's  car. 

"  So  it's  home  you  ran,  Julia,"  she  said,  sternly. 
"  Well,  now,  I  wonder  you  had  that  much  sense  itself. 
Looking  for  you  high  and  low  we  were,  after  the  polis 
had  gone,  that  only  come  to  get  the  number  of  our 
chickens — counting  the  feathers  on  them  next,  I  suppose 
they'll  be — and  all  romancing  it  was  about  anything 
happening  the  rick.  But  frightened  I  was  out  of  me 
wits,  till  little  Joey  said  he  seen  you  quitting  out  at  the 
gate.  So  then  I  come  along  to  see  what  foolish  thing 
you  might  be  about  doing  next." 

"  She's  likely  to  be  -doing  nothing  foolisher  than 
giving  you  a  cup  of  tay,  Bridgie,"  Hugh  interposed, 
soothingly.  "  And  mightn't  you  be  frying  us  a  few 
eggs  in  the  pan,  Julia  ?  Old  Nan  Byrne's  just  after 
bringing  in  two  or  three  fresh  ones  she  got  back  of  the 
Quins'  rick,  where  our  hins  do  be  laying." 

"  'Twill  be  a  handy  place  for  finding  them  in," 
Mrs.  Hugh  said,  blandly.  And  both  her  experienced 
hearers  accepted  the  remark  as  a  sign  that  these  hostilities 
were  over. 


MAELSHAUGHLINN    AT  THE  FAIR.  213 

Maelshaughlinn   at  the   Fair. 

From  "  My  Irish  Year." 
BY  PADRAIC  COLUM. 

IT  was  about  horses,  women,  and  music,  and,  in  the 
mouth  of  Maelshaughlinn,  the  narrative  had  the 
exuberance  of  the  fair  and  the  colour  of  a  unique  exploit. 
I  found  Maelshaughlinn  alone  in  the  house  in  the  grey 
dawn  succeeding  his  adventure.  "  This  morning," 
he  said,  "I'm  the  lonesome  poor  fellow  without  father 
or  mother,  a  girl's  promise,  nor  my  own  little  horse." 
He  closed  the  door  against  a  reproachful  sunrise,  and, 
sitting  on  a  little  three-legged  stool,  he  told  me  the 
story. 

Penitentially  he  began  it,  but  he  expanded  with  the 
swelling  narrative.  "  This  time  last  week,"  said 
Maelshaughlinn,  "  I  had  no  thought  of  parting  with  my 
own  little  horse.  The  English  wanted  beasts  for  a  war, 
and  the  farmers  about  here  were  coining  money  out  of 
horseflesh.  It  seemed  that  the  buyers  were  under  a 
pledge  not  to  refuse  anything  in  the  shape  of  a  horse, 
and  so  the  farmers  made  horses  out  of  the  sweepings  of 
the  knackers'  yards,  and  took  horses  out  of  ha'penny 
lucky-bags  and  sold  them  to  the  English.  Yesterday 
morning  I  took  out  my  own  little  beast  and  faced  for 
Arvach  Fair.  I  met  the  dealer  on  the  road.  He  was  an 
Englishman,  and  above  all  nations  on  the  face  of  the 
earth,  the  English  are  the  easiest  to  deal  with  in  regard 
of  horses.  I  tendered  him  the  price — it  was  an  honest 
price,  but  none  of  our  own  people  would  have  taken 
the  offer  in  any  reasonable  way.  An  Irishman  would  have 


214  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

cursed  into  his  hat,  so  that  he  might  shake  the  curses 
out  over  my  head.  The  Englishman  took  on  to  consider 
it,  and  my  heart  went  threshing  my  ribs.  Then  he  gave 
me  my  price,  paid  me  in  hard  weighty,  golden  sovereigns 
and  went  away,  taking  the  little  horse  with  him. 

"  I  sat  down  on  the  side  of  a  ditch  to  take  a  breath. 
Now  you'll  say  that  I  ought  to  have  gone  back  to  the 
work,  and  I'll  say  that  I  agree  with  you.  But  no  man 
can  be  wise  at  all  times.  Anyway,  I  was  sitting  on  a 
ditch,  with  a  lark  singing  over  every  foot  of  ground, 
and  nothing  before  me  but  the  glory  of  the  day.  A  girl 
came  along  the  road,  and,  on  my  soul,  I  never  saw  a 
girl  walking  so  finely.  '  She'll  be  a  head  above  every 
girl  in  the  fair,'  said  I, '  and  may  God  keep  the  brightness 
on  her  head.'  '  God  save  you,  Maelshaughlinn,' 
said  the  girl.  '  God  save  you,  my  jewel,'  said  I.  I 
stood  up  to  look  after  her,  for  a  fine  woman,  walking 
finely,  is  above  all  the  sights  that  man  ever  saw.  Then 
a  few  lads  passed,  whistling  and  swinging  their  sticks. 
'  God  give  you  a  good  day,'  said  the  lads.  '  God  give 
you  luck  boys,'  said  I.  And  there  was  I,  swinging  my 
stick  after  the  lads,  and  heading  for  the  fair. 

"  '  Never  go  into  a  fair  where  you've  no  business.' 
That's  an  oul'  saying  and  a  wise  saying,  but  never 
forget  that  neither  man  nor  immortal  can  be  wise  at 
all  times.  Satan  fell  from  heaven,  Adam  was  cast  out 
of  Paradise,  and  even  your  Uncle  broke  his  pledge. 

"  When  I  came  into  the  fair  there  was  a  fiddler  playing 
behind  a  tinker's  cart.  I  had  a  shilling  to  spend  in 
the  town,  and  so  I  went  into  Flynn's  and  asked  for  a 
cordial.  A  few  most  respectable  men  came  in  then, 
and  I  asked  them  to  take  a  treat  from  me.  Well,  one 
drank,  and  another  drank,  and  then  Rose  Heffernan 


MAELSHAUGHLINN    AT   THE  FAIR.  215 

came  into  the  shop  with  her  brother.  Young  Heffernan 
sent  the  glasses  round,  and  then  I  asked  Rose  to  take  a 
glass  of  wine,  and  I  put  down  a  sovereign  on  the  counter. 
The  fiddler  was  coming  down  the  street,  and  I  sent  a 
young  lad  out  to  him  with  silver.  I  stood  for  a  while 
talking  with  Rose,  and  I  heard  the  word  go  round  the 
shop  concerning  myself.  It  was  soon  settled  that  I  had 
got  a  legacy.  The  people  there  never  heard  of  any 
legacies  except  American  legacies,  and  so  they  put  my 
fortune  down  to  an  uncle  who  had  died,  they  thought, 
in  the  States.  Now,  I  didn't  want  Rose  to  think  that 
my  money  was  a  common  legacy  out  of  the  States,  so  by 
half-words  I  gave  them  to  understand  that  I  had  got 
my  fortune  out  of  Mexico.  Mind  you,  I  wasn't  far  out 
when  I  spoke  of  Mexico,  for  I  had  a  grand-uncle  who 
went  out  there,  and  his  picture  is  in  the  house  this 
present  minute. 

"  Well,  after  the  talk  of  a  Mexican  legacy  went  round, 
I  couldn't  take  any  treats  from  the  people,  and  I  asked 
everyone  to  drink  again.  I  think  the  crowds  of  the 
world  stood  before  Flynn's  counter.  A  big  Connachtman 
held  up  a  Mexican  dollar,  and  I  took  it  out  of  his  hand 
and  gave  it  to  Rose  Heffernan.  I  paid  him  for  it,  too, 
and  it  comes  into  my  mind  now,  that  I  paid  him  for  it 
twice. 

"  There's  not,  on  the  track  of  the  sun,  a  place  to 
come  near  Arvach  on  the  day  of  a  fair.  A  man  came 
along  leading  a  black  horse,  and  the  size  of  the  horse 
and  the  eyes  of  the  horse  would  terrify  you.  There  was 
a  drift  of  sheep  going  by,  and  the  fleece  of  each  was  worth 
gold.  There  were  tinkers  with  their  carts  of  shining  tins, 
as  ugly  and  quarrelsome  fellows  as  ever  beat  each  other 
to  death  in  a  ditch,  and  there  were  the  powerful  men, 


2l6  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

with  the  tight  mouths,  and  the  eyes  that  could  judge  a 
beast,  and  the  dark,  handsome  women  from  the 
mountains.  To  crown  all,  a  piper  came  into  the  town 
by  the  other  end,  and  his  music  was  enough  to  put  the 
blood  like  a  mill-race  through  your  heart.  The  music 
of  the  piper,  I  think,  would  have  made  the  beasts  walk 
out  of  the  fair  on  their  hind  legs,  if  the  music  of  the 
fiddler  didn't  charm  them  to  be  still.  Grace  Kennedy 
and  Sheela  Molloy  were  on  the  road,  and  Rose  Heffernan 
was  talking  to  them.  Grace  Kennedy  has  the  best 
wit  and  the  best  discourse  of  any  woman  within  the  four 
seas,  and  she  said  to  the  other  girls  as  I  came  up, '  Faith, 
girls,  the  good  of  the  Mission  will  be  gone  from  us  since 
Maelshaughlinn  came  into  the  fair,  for  the  young 
women  must  be  talking  about  his  coming  home  from 
the  sermon.'  Sheela  Molloy  has  the  softest  hair  and 
the  softest  eyes  of  anything  you  ever  saw.  She's  a 
growing  girl,  with  the  spice  of  the  devil  in  her.  '  It's 
not  the  best  manners,'  said  I,  '  to  treat  girls  to  a  glass 
across  the  counter,  but  come  into  a  shop,'  said  I,  '  and 
let  me  pay  for  your  fancy.'  Well,  I  persuaded  them 
to  come  into  a  shop,  and  I  got  the  girls  to  make  Sheela 
ask  for  a  net  for  her  hair.  They  don't  sell  these 
nets  less  than  by  the  dozen,  so  I  bought  a 
dozen  nets  for  Sheela's  hair.  I  bought  ear-rings  and 
brooches,  dream-books  and  fortune  books,  buckles, 
and  combs,  and  I  thought  I  had  spent  no  more  money 
than  I'd  thank  you  for  picking  up  off  the  floor.  A 
tinker  woman  came  in  and  offered  to  tell  the  girls  their 
fortunes,  and  I  had  to  cross  her  hand  with  silver. 

"  I  came  out  on  the  street  after  that,  and  took  a  few 
turns  through  the  fair.  The  noise  and  the  crowd  were 
getting  on  my  mind,  and  I  couldn't  think,  with  any 


MAELSHAUGHLINN   AT  THE  FAIR.  21 J 

satisfaction,  so  I  went  into  Mrs.  Molloy's,  and  sat  for 
a  while  in  the  snug.  I  had  peace  and  quiet  there,  and 
I  began  to  plan  out  what  I  would  do  with  my  money. 
I  had  a  notion  of  going  into  Clooney  on  Tuesday,  and 
buying  a  few  sheep  to  put  on  my  little  fields,  and  of 
taking  a  good  craftsman  home  from  the  fair,  a  man  who 
could  put  the  fine  thatch  on  my  little  house.  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  have  the  doors  and  windows  shining 
with  paint,  to  plant  a  few  trees  before  the  door,  and  to 
have  a  growing  calf  going  before  the  house.  In  a  while, 
I  thought,  I  could  have  another  little  horse  to  be  my 
comfort  and  consolation.  I  wasn't  drinking  anything 
heav'er  than  ginger  ale,  so  I  thought  the  whole  thing 
ou*  quietly.  After  a  while  I  got  up,  bid  good-bye  to 
Mrs.  Molloy,  and  stood  at  the  door  to  watch  the  fair. 

"  There  was  a  man  just  before  me  with  a  pea  and 
thimble,  and  I  never  saw  a  trick-of-the-loop  with  less 
sense  of  the  game.  He  was  winning  money  right  and 
left,  but  that  was  because  the  young  fellows  were  before 
him  like  motherless  calves.  Just  to  expose  the  man 
I  put  down  a  few  pence  on  the  board.  In  a  short 
time  I  had  fleeced  my  showman.  He  took  up  his  board 
and  went  away,  leaving  me  shillings  the  winner. 

"  I  stood  on  th  •  edge  of  the  pavement  wondering 
what  I  could  do  that  would  be  the  beating  of  the  things 
I  had  done  already.  By  this  time  the  fiddler  and  the 
piper  were  drawing  nigh  to  each  other,  and  there  was  a 
musician  to  the  right  of  me  and  a  musician  to  the  left 
of  me.  I  sent  silver  to  each,  and  told  them  to  cease 
playing  as  I  had  something  to  say.  I  got  up  on  a  cart 
and  shook  my  hat  to  get  silence.  I  said,  '  I'm  going 
to  bid  the  musicians  play  in  the  market  square,  and  the 
man  who  gets  the  best  worth  out  of  his  instrument  will  get 


2l8  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

a  prize  from  me.'  The  words  were  no  sooner  out  of 
my  mouth  than  men,  women  and  children  made  for 
the  market  square  like  two-year-olds  let  loose. 

"  You'd  like  the  looks  of  the  fiddler,  but  the  piper 
was  a  black-avis'd  fellow  that  kept  a  troop  of  tinkers 
about  him.  It  was  the  piper  who  said,  '  Master,  what's 
the  prize  to  be  ? '  Before  I  had  time  to  think,  the 
fiddler  was  up  and  talking.  '  He's  of  the  oul'  ancient 
race,'  said  the  fiddler,  '  and  he'll  give  the  prizes  that  the 
Irish  nobility  gave  to  the  musicians — a  calf,  the  finest 
calf  in  the  fair,  a  white  calf,  with  skin  as  soft  as  the  fine 
mist  on  the  ground,  a  calf  that  gentle  that  the  smoothest 
field  under  him  would  look  as  rough  as  a  bog.'  And 
the  fiddler  was  that  lifted  out  of  himself  that  he  nearly 
lept  over  a  cart.  Somebody  pushed  in  a  young  calf, 
and  then  I  sat  down  on  a  stone,  for  there  was  no  use  in 
saying  anything  or  trying  to  hear  anything  after  that. 
The  fiddler  played  first,  and  I  was  nearly  taken  out 
of  my  trouble  when  I  heard  him,  for  he  was  a  real  man 
of  art,  and  he  played  as  if  he  were  playing  before  a  king, 
with  the  light  of  heaven  on  his  face.  The  piper  was 
spending  his  silver  on  the  tinkers,  and  they  were  all 
deep  in  drink  when  he  began  to  play.  At  the  first  sound 
of  the  pipes  an  old  tinker- woman  fell  into  a  trance. 
It  was  powerful,  but  the  men  had  to  tie  him  up  with  a 
straw  rope,  else  the  horses  would  have  kicked  the  slates 
off  the  market-house  roof.  Nobody  was  quiet  after 
that.  There  were  a  thousand  men  before  me  offering 
to  sell  me  ten  thousand  calves,  each  calf  whiter  than  the 
one  before.  There  was  one  party  round  the  fiddler 
and  another  party  round  the  piper.  I  think  it  was  the 
fiddler  that  won  ;  anyway,  he  had  the  strongest  backing, 
for  they  hoisted  the  calf  on  to  a  cart,  and  they  put  the 


MAELSHAUGHLINN   AT  THE  FAIR.  2IQ 

fiddler  beside  it,  and  the  two  of  them  would  have 
got  out  of  the  crowd,  only  the  tinkers  cut  the  traces 
of  the  yoke.  I  was  saved  by  a  few  hardy  men,  who 
carried  me  through  the  market-house  and  into  Flynn's  by 
a  back  way,  and  there  I  paid  for  the  calf. 

"  When  I  came  out  of  Flynn's  the  people  were  going 
home  quiet  enough.  I  got  a  lift  on  Fardorrougha's 
yoke,  and  everybody,  I  think,  wanted  me  to  come  to 
Clooney  on  Tuesday  next.  I  think  I'd  have  got  out  of 
Arvach  with  safety,  only  a  dead-drunk  tinker  wakened 
up  and  knew  me,  and  he  gave  a  yell  that  brought  the 
piper  hot-foot  after  me.  First  of  all,  the  piper  cursed  me. 
He  had  a  bad  tongue,  and  he  put  on  me  the  blackest, 
bitterest  curses  you  ever  heard  in  your  life.  Then 
he  lifted  up  the  pipes,  and  he  gave  a  blast  that  went 
through  me  like  a  spear  of  ice. 

"  The  man  that  sold  me  the  calf  gave  me  a  luck-penny 
back,  and  that's  all  the  money  I  brought  out  of  Arvach 
fair. 

"  Never  go  into  the  fair  where  you  have  no  business." 


220  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

The   Rev.    J.    J.    Meldon   and 
the   Chief  Secretary. 

From  "  Spanish  Gold" 
BY  GEORGE  A.  BIRMINGHAM  (1865—). 

THE  Chief  Secretary  lay  back  in  Higginbotham's 
hammock-chair.  There  was  a  frown  on  his  face.  His 
sense  of  personal  dignity  was  outraged  by  the  story  he 
had  just  heard.  He  had  not  been  very  long  Chief 
Secretary  of  Ireland,  and,  though  not  without  a  sense 
of  humour,  he  took  himself  and  his  office  very  seriously. 
He  came  to  Ireland  intending  to  do  justice  and  show 
mercy.  He  looked  forward  to  a  career  of  real  useful- 
ness. He  was  prepared  to  be  opposed,  maligned, 
misunderstood,  declared  capable  of  every  kind  of  iniquity. 
He  did  not  expect  to  be  treated  as  a  fool.  He  did  not 
expect  that  an  official  in  the  pay  of  one  of  the  Government 
Boards  would  assume  as  a  matter  of  course  that  he  was 
a  fool  and  believe  any  story  about  him,  however  intrin- 
sically absurd.  He  failed  to  imagine  any  motive  for 
the  telling  of  such  a  story.  There  must,  he  assumed, 
have  been  a  motive,  but  what  it  was  he  could  not  even 
guess. 

Meldon  entered  the  hut  without  knocking  at  the 
door. 

"  Mr.  Willoughby,  I  believe,"  he  said,  cheerily. 
"  You  must  allow  me  to  introduce  myself  since  Higgin- 
botham  isn't  here  to  do  it  for  me.  My  name  is  Meldon, 
the  Rev.  J.  J.  Meldon,  B.A.,  of  T.C.D." 

The   Chief  Secretary  intended  to   rise  with   dignity 


REV.    J.   J.    MELDON    AND  THE   CHIEF    SECRETARY.      221 

and  walk  out  of  the  hut.  He  failed  because  no  one 
can  rise  otherwise  than  awkwardly  out  of  the  depths  of 
a  hammock-chair. 

"  Don't  stir,"  said  Meldon,  watching  his  struggles. 
"  Please  don't  stir.  I  shouldn't  dream  of  taking  your 
chair.  I'll  sit  on  the  corner  of  the  table.  I'll  be  quite 
comfortable,  I  assure  you.  How  do  you  like  Inish- 
gowlan,  now  you  are  here.  It's  a  nice  little  island, 
isn't  it  ?  " 

Mr.  Willoughby  succeeded  in  getting  out  of  his  chair. 
He  walked  across  the  hut,  turned  his  back  on  Meldon, 
and  stared  out  of  the  window. 

"  I  came  up  here  to  have  a  chat  with  you,"  said 
Meldon.  "  Perhaps  you  wouldn't  mind  turning  round  ; 
I  always  find  it  more  convenient  to  talk  to  a  man  who 
isn't  looking  the  other  way.  I  don't  make  a  point  of 
it,  of  course.  If  you've  got  into  the  habit  of  keeping 
your  back  turned  to  people,  I  don't  want  you  to  alter 
it  on  my  account." 

Mr.  Willoughby  turned  round.  He  seemed  to  be 
on  the  point  of  making  an  angry  remark.  Meldon  faced 
him  with  a  bland  smile.  The  look  of  irritation  faded 
in  Mr.  Willoughby's  face.  He  appeared  puzzled. 

"  It's  about  Higginbotham's  bed,"  said  Meldon, 
"  that  I  want  to  speak.  It's  an  excellent  bed,  I  believe, 
though  I  never  slept  in  it  myself.  But, ' 

"  If  there's  anything  the  matter  with  the  bed,"  said 
Mr.  Willoughby  severely,  "  Mr.  Higginbotham  should 
himself  represent  the  facts  to  the  proper  authorities." 

"  You  quite  misunderstand  me.  And,  in  any  case, 
Higginbotham  can't  move  in  the  matter  because  he 
doesn't,  at  present,  know  that  there's  anything  wrong 
about  the  bed.  By  the  time  he  finds  out,  it  will  be  too 


222  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

late  to  do  anything.     I  simply  want  to  give  you  a  word 
of  advice.     Don't  sleep  in  Higginbotham's  bed  to-night." 

"  I  haven't  the  slightest  intention  of  sleeping  in  it." 

"  That's  all  right.  I'm  glad  you  haven't.  The  fact 
is  " — Meldon's  voice  sank  almost  to  a  whisper — 
"  there  happens  to  be  a  quantity  of  broken  glass  in 
that  bed.  I  need  scarcely  tell  a  man  with  your  experi- 
ence of  life  that  broken  glass  in  a  bed  isn't  a  thing  which 
suits  everybody.  It's  all  right,  of  course,  if  you're  used 
to  it,  but  I  don't  suppose  you  are." 

Mr.  Willoughby  turned,  this  time  towards  the  door. 
There  was  something  in  the  ingenuous  friendliness 
of  Meldon's  face  which  tempted  him  to  smile.  He 
caught  sight  of  Higginbotham  standing  white  and 
miserable  on  the  threshold.  He  made  a  snatch  at  the 
dignity  which  had  nearly  escaped  him  and  frowned 
severely. 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Higginbotham,"  he  said,  "  that  I  should 
like  to  take  a  stroll  round  the  island." 

"  Come  along,"  said  Meldon.  "  I'll  show  the 
sights.  You  don't  mind  climbing  walls,  I  hope.  You'll 
find  the  place  most  interesting.  Do  you  care  about 
babies  ?  There's  a  nice  little  beggar  called  Michael 
Pat.  Any  one  with  a  taste  for  babies  would  take  to  him 
at  once.  And  there's  a  little  girl  called  Mary  Kate, 
a  great  friend  of  Higginbotham's.  She's  the  grand- 
daughter of  old  Thomas  O 'Flaherty  Pat.  By  the  way, 
how  are  you  going  to  manage  about  Thomas  O'Flaherty's 
bit  of  land  ?  There's  been  a  lot  of  trouble  over  that  ?  " 

Mr.  Willoughby  sat  down  again  in  the  hammock- 
chair  and  stared  at  Meldon. 

"  Of  course,  it's  your  affair,  not  mine,"  said  Meldon. 
"  Still,  if  I  can  be  of  any  help  to  you,  you've  only  got 


REV.   J.   J.    MELDON   AND   THE  CHIEF   SECRETARY.       223 

to  say  so.  I  know  old  O'Flaherty  pretty  well,  and  I 
may  say  without  boasting  that  I  have  as  much  influence 
with  him  as  any  man  on  the  island." 

"  If  I  want  your  assistance  I  shall  ask  for  it,"  said 
Mr.  Willoughby,  coldly. 

"  That's  right,"  said  Meldon.  "  I'll  do  anything  I 
can.  The  great  difficulty,  of  course,  is  the  language. 
You  don't  talk  Irish  yourself,  I  suppose.  Higgin- 
botham  tells  me  he's  learning.  It's  a  very  difficult 
language,  highly  inflected.  I'm  not  very  good  at  it 
myself.  I  can't  carry  on  a  regular  business  conversa- 
tion in  it.  By  the  way,  what  is  your  opinion  of  the 
Gaelic  League  ?  " 

A  silence  followed.  Mr.  Willoughby  gave  no 
opinion  of  the  Gaelic  League.  Meldon  sat  down  again 
on  the  corner  of  the  table  and  began  to  swing  his  legs. 
Higginbotham  still  stood  in  the  doorway.  Mr.  Wil- 
loughby, with  a  bewildered  look  on  his  face,  lay  back 
in  the  hammock-chair. 

"  I  see,"  said  Meldon,  "  that  you've  sent  your  yacht 
away.  That  was  what  made  me  think  you  were  going 
to  sleep  in  Higginbotham's  bed.  I  suppose  she'll  be 
back  before  night." 

"  Really "  began  Mr.  Willoughby. 

Meldon  replied  at  once  to  the  tone  in  which  the  word 
was  spoken. 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  asking  questions.  If  there's 
any  secret  about  the  matter  you're  quite  right  to  keep 
it  to  yourself.  I  quite  understand  that  you  Cabinet 
Ministers  can't  always  say  out  everything  that's  in  your 
mind.  I  only  mentioned  the  steamer  because  the  con- 
versation seemed  to  be  languishing.  You  wouldn't 
talk  about  Thomas  O'Flaherty  Pat's  field,  and  you 


224  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

wouldn't  talk  about  the  Gaelic  League,  though  I  thought 
that  would  be  sure  to  interest  you.  Now  you  won't 
talk  about  the  steamer.  However,  it's  quite  easy  to 
get  on  some  other  subject.  Do  you  think  the  weather 
will  hold  up  ?  The  glass  has  been  dropping  the  last 
two  days." 

Mr.  Willoughby  struggled  out  of  the  hammock- 
chair  again.  He  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height 
and  squared  his  shoulders.  His  face  assumed  an 
expression  of  rigid  determination.  He  addressed 
Higginbotham  : 

"  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  go  up  to  the  old  man  you 
spoke  of — 

"  Thomas  O'Flaherty  Pat,"  said  Meldon.  "  That's 
the  man  he  means,  you  know,  Higginbotham." 

"  And  tell  him —    "  went  on  Mr.  Willoughby. 

"  If  you're  to  tell  him  anything,"  said  Meldon,  "  don't 
forget  to  take  someone  with  you  who  understands  Irish." 

"  And  tell  him,"  repeated  Mr.  Willoughby,  "  that  I 
shall  expect  him  here  in  about  an  hour  to  meet  Father 
Mulcrone." 

"  I  see,"  said  Meldon.  "  So  that's  where  the  yacht's 
gone.  You've  sent  for  the  priest  to  talk  sense  to  the 
old  boy.  Well,  I  dare  say  you're  right,  though  I  think 
we  could  have  managed  with  the  help  of  Mary  Kate. 
She  knows  both  languages  well,  and  she'd  do  anything 
for  me,  though  she  is  rather  down  on  Higginbotham. 
It's  a  pity  you  didn't  consult  me  before  sending  the 
steamer  off  all  the  way  to  Inishmore.  However,  it 
can't  be  helped  now." 

Higginbotham  departed  on  his  errand  and  shut  the 
door  of  the  hut  after  him.  The  Chief  Secretary  turned 
to  Meldon. 


REV.  J.   J.   MELDON   AND  THE  CHIEF   SECRETARY.      225 

"  You've  chosen  to  force  your  company  on  me  this 
afternoon  in  a  most  unwarrantable  manner." 

"  I'll  go  at  once  if  you  like,"  said  Meldon.  "  I  only 
came  up  here  for  your  own  good,  to  warn  you  about  the 
state  of  Higginbotham's  bed.  You  ought  to  be  more 
grateful  to  me  than  you  are.  It  isn't  every  man  who'd 
have  taken  the  trouble  to  come  all  this  way  to  save  a 
total  stranger  from  getting  his  legs  cut  with  broken 
glass.  However,  if  you  hunt  me  away,  of  course,  I'll 
go.  Only,  I  think,  you'll  be  sorry  afterwards  if  I  do. 
I  may  say  without  vanity  that  I'm  far  and  away  the  most 
amusing  person  on  this  island  at  present." 

"  As  you  are  here,"  said  Mr.  Willoughby,  "  I  take 
the  opportunity  of  asking  you  what  you  mean  by  telling 
that  outrageous  story  to  Mr.  Higginbotham.  I'm  not 
accustomed  to  having  my  name  used  in  that  way,  and, 
to  speak  plainly,  I  regard  it  as  insolence." 

"  You  are  probably  referring  to  the  geological  survey 
of  this  island." 

"  Yes.  To  your  assertion  that  I  employed  a  man 
called  Kent  to  survey  this  island.  That  is  precisely 
what  I  refer  to." 

"  Then  you  ought  to  have  said  so  plainly  at  first, 
and  not  have  left  me  to  guess  at  what  you  were  talking 
about.  Many  men  couldn't  have  guessed,  and  then 
we  should  have  been  rambling  at  cross  purposes  for  the 
next  hour  or  so  without  getting  any  further.  Always 
try  and  say  plainly  what  you  mean,  Mr.  Willoughby. 
I  know  it's  difficult,  but  I  think  you'll  find  it  pays  in  the 
end.  Now  that  I  know  what's  in  your  mind,  I'll  be 
very  glad  to  thrash  it  out  with  you.  You  know  Higgin- 
botham, of  course  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Q 


226  HUMOUR"   OF   IRISH  LIFE. 

"  Intimately  ?  " 

"  I  met  him  this  afternoon  for  the  first  time." 

"  Then  you  can't  be  said  really  to  know  Higgin- 
botham.  That's  a  pity,  because  without  a  close  and 
intimate  knowledge  of  Higginbotham,  you're  not  in  a 
position  to  understand  that  geological  survey  story. 
Take  my  advice  and  drop  the  whole  subject  until  you 
know  Higginbotham  better.  After  spending  a  few 
days  on  the  island  in  constant  intercourse  with  Higgin- 
botham you'll  be  able  to  understand  the  whole  thing. 
Then  you'll  appreciate  it.  In  the  meanwhile,  I'm  sure 
you  won't  mind  my  adding,  since  we  are  on  the  subject, 
— and  it  was  you  who  introduced  it — that  you  ought 
not  to  go  leaping  to  conclusions  without  a  proper  know- 
ledge of  the  facts.  I  said  the  same  thing  this  morning 
to  Major  Kent,  when  he  insisted  that  you  had  come 
here  to  search  for  buried  treasure." 

Mr.  Willoughby  pulled  himself  together  with  an  effort. 
He  felt  a  sense  of  bewilderment  and  hopeless  con- 
fusion. The  sensation  was  familiar.  He  had 
experienced  it  before  in  the  House  of  Commons 
when  the  Irish  members  of  both  parties  asked 
questions  on  the  same  subject.  He  knew  that  his 
only  chance  was  to  ignore  side-issues,  however 
fascinating,  and  get  back  at  once  to  the  original  point. 

"  I'm  willing,"  he  said,  "  to  listen  to  any  explanation 
you  have  to  offer  ;  but  I  do  not  see  how  Mr.  Higgin- 
botham's  character  alters,  or  can  alter,  the  fact  that 
you  told  him  what  I  can  only  describe  as  an  outrageous 
lie." 

"  The  worst  thing  about  you  Englishmen  is  that 
you  have  such  blunt  minds.  You  don't  appreciate 
the  lights  and  shades,  the  finer  nuances,  what  I  may 


REV.   J.  J.    MELDON    AND    THE   CHIEF   SECRETARY.    227 

perhaps  describe  as  the  chiaroscuro  of  things.  It's 
just  the  same  with  my  friend  Major  Kent.  By  the  way, 
I  ought  to  apologise  for  him.  He  ought  to  have  come 
ashore  and  called  upon  you  this  afternoon.  It  isn't 
a  want  of  loyalty  which  prevented  him.  He's  a  strong 
Unionist  and  on  principle  he  respects  His  Majesty's 
Ministers,  whatever  party  they  belong  to.  The  fact 
is,  he  was  a  bit  nervous  about  this  geological  survey 
business.  He  didn't  know  exactly  how  you'd  take  it. 
I  told  him  that  you  were  a  reasonable  man,  and  that 
you'd  see  the  thing  in  a  proper  light,  but  he  wouldn't 
come." 

"  Will  you  kindly  tell  me  what  is  the  proper  light  in 
which  to  view  this  extraordinary  performance  of  yours  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  It  will  be  a  little  difficult,  of  course, 
when  you  don't  know  Higginbotham,  but  I'll  try." 

"  Leave  Mr.  Higginbotham  out,"  said  the  Chief 
Secretary,  irritably.  "  Tell  me  simply  this  :  Were 
you  justified  in  making  a  statement  which  you  knew 
to  be  a  baseless  invention  ?  How  do  you  explain  the 
fact  that  you  told  a  deliberate — that  you  didn't  tell  the 
truth  ?  " 

"  I've  always  heard  of  you  as  an  educated  man.  I 
may  assume  that  you  know  all  about  pragmatism." 

"  I  don't." 

"  Well,  you  ought  to.  It's  a  most  interesting  system 
of  philosophy  quite  worth  your  while  to  study.  I'm 
sure  you'd  like  it  if  you  understand  it.  In  fact,  I  expect 
you're  a  pragmatist  already  without  knowing  it.  Most 
of  us  practical  men  are." 

"I'm  waiting  for  an  explanation  of  the  story  you 
told  Mr.  Higginbotham." 

"  Quite    right.     I'm    coming    to    that    in    a    minute. 


228  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

Don't  be  impatient.  If  you'd  been  familiar  with  the 
pragmatist  philosophy  it  would  have  saved  time.  As 
you're  not — though  as  Chief  Secretary  for  Ireland  I 
think  you  ought  to  be — I'll  have  to  explain.  Prag- 
matism may  be  described  as  the  secularising  of  the 
Ritschlian  system  of  theological  thought.  You  under- 
stand the  Ritschlian  theory  of  value  judgments,  of 
course  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't."  Mr.  Willoughby  began  to  feel  very 
helpless.  It  seemed  easier  to  let  the  tide  of  this  strange 
lecture  sweep  over  him  than  to  make  any  effort  to  assert 
himself. 

"  Do  you  mind  if  I  smoke  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  think  I 
could  listen  to  your  explanation  better  if  I  smoked." 

He  took  from  his  pocket  a  silver  cigar-case. 

"  Smoke  away,"  said  Meldon.  "  I  don't  mind  in  the 
least.  In  fact,  I'll  take  a  cigar  from  you  and  smoke,  too. 
I  can't  afford  cigars  myself,  but  I  enjoy  them  when 
they're  good.  I  suppose  a  Chief  Secretary  is  pretty 
well  bound  to  keep  decent  cigars  on  account  of  his 
position." 

Mr.  Willoughby  handed  over  the  case.  Meldon 
selected  a  cigar  and  lit  it.  Then  he  went  on — 

"  The  central  position  of  the  pragmatist  philosophy 
and  the  Ritschlian  theology  is  that  truth  and  usefulness 
are  identical." 

"  Eh  ?  " 

"  What  that  means  is  this.  A  thing  is  true  if  it  turns 
out  in  actual  practice  to  be  useful,  and  false  if  it  turns 
out  in  actual  practice  to  be  useless.  I  daresay  that 
sounds  startling  to  you  at  first,  but  if  you  think  it  over 
quietly  for  a  while  you'll  get  to  see  that  there's  a  good 
deal  in  it." 


REV.   J.   J.   MELDON    AND   THE   CHIEF  SECRETARY.    229 

Me'don  puffed  at  his  cigar  without  spe  king.  He 
wished  to  give  Mr.  Willoughby  an  opportunity  for 
meditation  Then  he  went  on — 

"  The  usual  illustration — the  one  you'll  find  in  all  the 
text-books — is  the  old  puzzle  of  the  monkey  on  the  tree. 
A  man  sees  a  monkey  clinging  to  the  far  side  of  a  trunk 
of  a  tree — I  never  could  make  out  how  he  did  see  it, 
but  that  doesn't  matter  for  the  purposes  of  the  illustra- 
tion. He  (the  man)  determines  to  go  round  the  tree  and 
get  a  better  look  at  the  monkey.  But  the  monkey 
creeps  round  the  tree  so  as  always  to  keep  the  trunk 
between  him  and  the  man.  The  question  is,  whether, 
when  he  has  gone  round  the  tree,  the  man  has  or  has 
not  gone  round  the  monkey.  The  older  philosophers 
simply  gave  that  problem  up.  They  couldn't  solve  it, 
but  the  pragmatist — 

"  Either  you  or  I,"  said  Mr.  Willoughby,  feebly, 
"  must  be  going  mad." 

"  Your  cigar  has  gone  out,"  said  Meldon.  "  Don't 
light  it  again.  There's  nothing  tastes  worse  than  a 
relighted  cigar.  Take  a  fresh  one.  There  are  still 
two  in  the  case  and  I  shall  be  able  to  manage  along 
with  one  more." 

"  Would  you  mind  leaving  out  the  monkey  on  the  tree 
and  getting  back  to  the  geological  survey  story  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit.  If  it  bores  you  to  hear  an  explanation 
of  the  pragmatist  theory  of  truth,  I  won't  go  on  with  it. 
It  was  only  for  your  sake  I  went  into  it.  You  can  just 
take  it  from  me  that  the  test  of  truth  is  usefulness. 
That's  the  general  theory.  Now  apply  it  to  this  parti- 
cular case.  The  story  I  told  Higginbotham  turned  out 
to  be  extremely  useful — quite  as  useful  as  I  had  any  reason 
to  expect.  In  fact,  I  don't  see  that  we  could  very  well 


230  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

have  got  on  without  it.  I  can't  explain  to  you  just 
how  it  was  useful.  If  I  did,  I  should  be  giving  away 
Major  Kent,  Sir  Charles  Buckley,  Euseby  Langton, 
and  perhaps  old  Thomas  O 'Flaherty  Pat ;  but  you  may 
take  it  that  the  utility  of  the  story  has  been  demon- 
strated." 

Mr.  Willoughby  made  an  effort  to  rally.  He  reminded 
himself  that  he  was  Cabinet  Minister  and  a  great  man, 
that  he  had  withstood  the  fieriest  eloquence  of  Members 
for  Munster  constituencies,  and  survived  the  most 
searching  catechisms  of  the  men  from  Antrim  and  Down. 
He  called  to  mind  the  fact  that  he  had  resolutely  said 
"  No  "  to  at  least  twenty-five  per  cent,  of  the  people 
who  came  to  him  in  Dublin  Castle  seeking  to  have 
jobs  perpetrated.  He  tried  to  realise  the  impossibility 
of  a  mere  country  curate  talking  him  down.  He 
hardened  his  heart  with  the  recollection  that  he  was  in 
the  right  and  the  curate  utterly  in  the  wrong  He  sat  up 
as  well  as  he  could  in  the  hammock-chair  and  said  sternly — 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  you  regard  any  lie  as 
justifiable  if  it  serves  its  purpose  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Meldon  ;  "  you  are  missing 
the  whole  point.  I  was  afraid  you  would  when  you 
prevented  me  from  explaining  the  theory  of  truth  to 
you.  I  never  justify  lies  under  any  circumstances 
whatever.  The  thing  I'm  trying  to  help  you  grasp  is 
this  :  A  statement  isn't  a  lie  if  it  proves  itself  in  actual 
practice  to  be  useful — it's  true.  There,  now,  you've 
let  that  second  cigar  go  out.  You'd  better  light  that  one 
again.  I  hate  to  see  a  man  wasting  cigar  after  cigar, 
especially  when  they're  good  ones." 

Mr.  Willoughby  fumbled  with  the  matches  and  made 
more  than  one  attempt  to  relight  the  cigar. 


REV.  J.   J.    MELDON    AND   THE   CHIEF   SECRETARY.      231 

"  The  reason,"  Meldon  went  on,  "  why  I  think  you're 
almost  certain  to  be  a  pragmatist  is  that  you're  a  poli- 
tician. You're  constantly  having  to  make  speeches,  of 
course  ;  and  in  every  speech  you  must,  more  or  less, 
say  something  about  Ireland.  When  you  are  Chief 
Secretary  the  other  fellow,  the  man  in  opposition  who 
wants  to  be  Chief  Secretary  but  isn't,  gets  up  and  says 
you  are  telling  a  pack  of  lies.  That's  not  the  way  he 
expresses  himself,  but  it's  exactly  what  he  means. 
When  his  turn  comes  round  to  be  Chief  Secretary,  and 
you  are  in  opposition,  you  very  naturally  say  that  he's 
telling  lies.  Now,  that's  a  very  crude  way  of  talking. 
You  are,  both  of  you,  as  patriotic  and  loyal  men,  doing 
your  best  to  say  what  is  really  useful.  If  the  things 
you  say  turn  out  in  the  end  to  be  useful,  why,  then,  if 
you  happen  to  be  a  pragmatist,  they  aren't  lies." 

Mr.  Willoughby  stuck  doggedly  to  his  point.  Just 
so  his  countrymen,  though  beaten  by  all  the  rules  of 
war,  have  from  time  to  time  clung  to  positions  which 
they  ought  to  have  evacuated. 

"  A  lie,"  he  said,  "  is  a  lie.  I  don't  see  that  you've 
made  your  case  at  all." 

"  I  know  I  haven't,  but  that's  because  you  insist  on 
stopping  me.  If  you'll  allow  me  to  go  back  to  the  man 
who  went  round  the  tree  with  the  monkey  on  it " 

"  Don't  do  that,  I  can't  bear  it." 

"  Very  well.  I  won't.  I  suppose  we  may  consider 
the  matter  closed  now,  and  go  on  to  talk  of  something 
else." 

"  No.  It's  not  closed,"  said  Mr.  Willoughby,  with 
a  fine  show  of  spirited  indignation.  "  I  still  want  to  know 
why  you  told  Mr.  Higginbotham  that  I  sent  Major 
Kent  to  make  a  geological  survey  of  this  island.  It's 


232  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

all  very  well  to  talk  as  you've  been  doing,  but  a  man 
is  bound  to  tell  the  truth  and  not  to  deceive  innocent 
people." 

"  Look  here,  Mr.  Willoughby,"  said  Meldon,  "  I've 
sat  and  listened  to  you  calling  me  a  liar  half-a-dozen 
times,  and  I  havn't  turned  a  hair.  I'm  not  a  man 
with  remarkable  self-control,  and  I  appreciate  your 
point  of  view.  You  are  irritated  because  you  think 
you  are  not  being  treated  with  proper  respect.  You 
assert  what  you  are  pleased  to  call  your  dignity,  by 
trying  to  prove  that  I  am  a  liar.  I've  stood  it  from  you 
so  far,  but  I'm  not  bound  to  stand  it  any  longer,  and  I 
won't.  It  doesn't  suit  you  one  bit  to  take  up  that  high 
and  mighty  moral  tone,  and  I  may  tell  you  it  doesn't 
impress  me.  I'm  not  the  British  Public,  and  that  bluff 
honesty  pose  isn't  one  I  admire.  All  these  platitudes  about 
lies  being  lies  simply  run  off  my  skin.  I  know  that  your 
own  game  of  politics  couldn't  be  played  for  a  single 
hour  without  what  you  choose  to  describe  as  deceiving 
innocent  people.  Mind  you,  I'm  not  blaming  you  in 
the  least.  I  quite  give  in  that  you  can't  always  be 
blabbing  out  the  exact  literal  truth  about  everything. 
Things  couldn't  go  on  if  you  did.  All  I  say  is,  that, 
being  in  the  line  of  life  you  are,  you  ought  not  to  set 
yourself  up  as  a  model  of  every  kind  of  integrity  and  come 
out  here  to  an  island,  which,  so  far  as  I  know,  nobody  ever 
invited  you  to  visit,  and  talk  ideal  morality  to  me  in  the 
way  you've  been  doing.  Hullo  !  here's  Higginbotham 
back  again.  I  wonder  if  he  has  brought  Thomas 
O'Flaherty  Pat  with  him.  You'll  be  interested  in 
seeing  that  old  man,  even  if  you  can't  speak  to  him." 

Higginbotham  started  as  he  entered  the  hut.     He  did 
not  expect  to  find   Meldon  there.     He  was  surprised 


REV.   J.  J.    MELDON   AND  THE  CHIEF  SECRETARY.    233 

to  see  Mr.  Willoughby  crumpled  up,  crushed,  cowed 
in  the  depths  of  the  hammock-chair,  while  Meldon, 
cheerful  and  triumphant,  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  table 
swinging  his  legs  and  smoking  a  cigar. 

"  You'd  better  get  that  oil  stove  of  yours  lit,  Higgin- 
botham,"  said  Meldon.  "  The  Chief  Secretary  is 
dying  for  a  cup  of  tea.  You'd  like  some  tea,  wouldn't 
you,  Mr  Willoughby  ?  " 

"  I  would.  I  feel  as  if  I  wanted  some  tea.  You 
won't  say  that  I'm  posing  for  the  British  Public  if  I 
drink  tea,  will  you  ?  " 

It  was  Meldon  who  lit  the  stove,  and  busied  himself 
with  the  cups  and  saucers.  Higginbotham  was  too 
much  astonished  to  assist. 

"  There's  no  water  in  your  kettle,"  said  Meldon. 
"  I'd  better  run  across  to  the  well  and  get  some.  Or 
I'll  go  to  Michael  Pat's  mother  and  get  some  hot.  That 
will  save  time.  When  I'm  there  I'll  collar  a  loaf  of 
soda-bread  and  some  butter  if  I  can.  I  happen  to  know 
that  she  has  some  fresh  butter  because  I  helped  her  to 
make  it." 

Mr.  Willoughby  rallied  a  little  when  the  door  closed 
behind  Meldon. 

"  Your  friend,"  he  said  to  Higginbotham,"  seems  to 
me  to  be  a  most  remarkable  man." 

"  He  is.  In  college  we  always  believed  that  if  only 
he'd  give  his  mind  to  it  and  taken  some  interest  in  his 
work,  he  could  have  done  anything." 

"  I  haven't  the  slightest  doubt  of  it.  He  has  given  me 
a  talking  to  this  afternoon  such  as  I  haven't  had  since 
I  left  school — not  since  I  left  the  nursery.  Did  you 
ever  read  a  book  on  pragmatism  ?  " 

"  No." 


234  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH  LIFE. 

"  You  don't  happen  to  know  the  name  of  the  best 
book  on  the  subject  ?  " 

"  No,  bu    I'm  sure  that  Me  don — " 
"  Don't,"    said    Mr.    Willoughby.     "  I'd    rather    not 
start  him  on  the  subject  again.     Have  you  any  cigars  ? 
I  want  one  badly.     I  got  no  good  of  the  two  I    half 
fmoked  while  he  was  here." 

"  I'm  afraid  not.  But  your  own  cigar-case  has  one 
in  it.  It's  on  the  table." 

"  I  can't  smoke  that  one.  To  put  it  plainly,  I  daren't. 
Your  friend  Meldon  said  he  might  want  it.  I'd  be  afraid 
to  face  him  if  it  was  gone." 

"  But  it's  your  own  cigar  !     Why  should  Meldon " 

"  It's  not  my  cigar.     Nothing  in  the  world  is  mine 
any  more,  not  even  my  mind,  or  my  morality,  or  my 
self-respect  is  my  own.     Mr.  Meldon  has  taken  them 
from  me,  and    orn  them  in  pieces  before  my  eyes.     He 
has  left  me  a  nervous  wreck  of  a  man  I  once  was.     Did 
you    ay  he  was  a  parson  ?  " 
"  Yes.     He's  curate  of  Bally moy." 
"  Thank  God,  I  don't  live  in  that  parish  !     I  should 
be   hypnotised    into   going   to   church   every   time    he 

preached,  and  then .     Hush  !     Can   he   be   coming 

back  already  ?  I  believe  he  is.  No  other  man  would 
whistle  as  loud  as  that.  If  he  begins  to  illtreat  me 
again,  Mr  Higginbotham,  I  hope  you'll  try  and  drag 
him  off.  I  can't  stand  much  more. 


OLD  TUMMUS   AND  THE  BATTLE  OF   SCARVA.          235 

Old  Tummus  and   the   Battle 
of  Scarva. 

From  "  Lady  Anne's  Walk" 
BY  ELEANOR  ALEXANDER. 

I  FOUND  old  Tummus  scuffling  Lady  Anne's  walk  ; 
that  is  to  say,  he  was  busy  looking  pensively  at  the  weeds 
as  he  leaned  on  his  hoe.  He  never  suddenly  pretends 
to  be  at  work  when  he  is  not  at  work,  but  always  retains 
the  same  calm  dignity  of  carriage.  He  too  frankly 
despises  his  employers  to  admit  that  either  his  occasional 
lapses  into  action,  or  his  more  frequent  attitude 
of  storing  his  reserve  force  are  any  concern  of  theirs. 
Gathering  that  he  was  graciously  inclined  for 
conversation  by  a  not  unfriendly  glance  which  he  cast 
in  my  direction  after  he  had  spat  on  the  ground,  I 
settled  myself  to  listen. 

"  Do  ye  know  what  I'm  goin'  te  tell  ye  ?  " 
With  this  he  generally  prefaces  his  remarks.  It  is, 
however,  merely  rhetorical.  He  does  not  expect  an 
answer  ;  unless  one  were  at  least  a  minor  prophet 
it  would  be  impossible  to  give  one,  except  in  the  negative. 
"  Do  ye  know  what  I'm  goin'  te  tell  ye  ?"  he  repeated, 
gently,  raising  a  weed  with  his  hoe  into  what  looked  like 
a  sitting  position,  where  he  held  it  as  if  he  were  supporting 
it  in  bed  to  receive  its  last  communion.  "  There's  not 
a  hair's  differ  betwixt  onny  two  weemen.'  I  was 
speechless,  and  he  continued  :  "  There  is  thon  boy  o' 
mine,  and  though  I  say  it  that  shouldn't,  he's  a  fine 
boy,  so  he  is,  and  no  ways  blate,  and  as  brave  a 


236  HUMOURS  OF  IRISH   LIFE. 

boy  as  you'd  wish  for  te  see.  From  the  time  he  was 
six  year  old  he  was  that  old-fashioned  he  wouldn't  go 
to  church  without  his  boots  was  right  jergers  (creakers) 
that  ye'd  hear  all  over  the  church  when  he  cum  in  a  wee 
bit  late  :  and  he  cud  say  off  all  the  responses  as  bowld  as 
brass.  Did  I  no'  learn  him  his  releegion  mesel,  and  bid 
him  foller  after  him  that  has  gone  before  ? ' 

A  solemn  pause  seemed  only  appropriate  here,  though 
I  had  my  doubts. 

"  But  whiles  he  tuk  te  colloque-in'  with  the  wee 
fellers  round  the  corner  there  in  Irish  street.  That's  so. 
But  I  soon  quet  him  o'  that.  Says  I  te  him  :  "  Do  ye 
know  what  I'm  goin'  te  tell  ye  ?  Me  heart's  broke  with 
ye,  so  it  is.  I'll  have  no  colloque-in'  from  onny  boy 
o'  mine,  so  I  won't.  Ye '11  have  no  trafficking  no,  nor 
passin'  o'  the  time  o'  day  with  them  that's  not  yer  own 
sort,  and  that  differs  from  the  Reverend  Crampsey  ; 
him  and  me  and  Johnston  of  Ballykilbeg,  and  the  Great 
Example.'  What's  that  ye  say?  Who  is  the  Great 
Example  ?  Now  !  Now  !  Who  wud  it  be,  but  him 
on  the  white  horse  ?  " 

This  is  not,  as  might  be  supposed,  from  the 
vision  of  the  Apocalypse,  but  is  easily  recognised 
by  those  who  are  in  the  know,  as  an  allusion  to  William 
of  Orange,  of  "  Glorious,  pious,  amd  immortal  memory," 
who  is  always  represented  on  a  white  horse. 

"  But,"  I  argued,  "  he  did  traffic  with  those  who 
disagreed  with  him  ;  it  is  even  said,  you  know,  that 
when  he  came  to  England  he  subsidised  the  Pope." 

Tummus  appeared  not  to  have  heard  this  remark. 

"  As  I  was  sayin',  thon  boy  o'  mine,  he  has  a  mind 
to  get  hisself  marriet.  So  says  I  te  him,  '  There's  not 


OLD   TUMMUS   AND   THE   BATTLE    OF  SCARVA.         237 

a  hair's  differ  between  onny  two  o'  them.'  Ye  see,  it's 
this  way.  He  has  the  two  o'  them  courted  down  to 
the  askin',  and  he's  afeard  that  if  he  asks  the  wan  he'll 
think  long  for  the  other,  or  maybe  he'll  think  he'd 
sooner  have  had  the  other." 

"He  is  not  behaving  well.  He  can't,  of  course, 
marry  them  both,  and  yet  he  has  raised  hopes  which 
must  in  one  case  be  disappointed  ;  he  might  break  the 
poor  girl's  heart." 

"  Break  her  heart !     Hoot.     Blethers.     Heart  is  it  ?  " 

"  But,"  I  interjected  again,  merely,  of  course,  to 
make  conversation,  for  I  have  many  times  and  oft 
heard  his  opinion  on  the  subject,  and  it  is  not  favourable, 
"  Don't  you  believe  in  love  ?  " 

Tummus  had  been  twice  married.  His  first  wife 
was  called  Peggy-Anne,  and  only  lived  a  year  after 
her  marriage.  I  try  to  persuade  myself  and  him  that 
this  was  the  romance  of  his  life,  but  it  is  up-hill  work. 
The  present  Mrs.  Thomas,  who  has  been  his  wife  for 
five-and-twenty-years,  he  always  speaks  of  as  "  Thon 
widdy  wumman."  She  was  the  relict  of  one  John 
M'Adam,  whose  simple  annal  in  this  world  seems  to 
be,  that  he  was  the  first  husband  of  Tummus 's  second 
wife  ;  for  the  other  world,  his  successor  considers  that, 
owing  to  his  theological  views,  he  is  certainly — well — 
not  in  heaven. 

"  Do  I  no  believe  in  love  ?  Why,  wumman,  dear, 
have  I  no  seen  it  mesel  ?  Sure,  and  I  had  an  uncle  o' 
me  own,  me  own  mother's  brother,  that  was  tuk  that  way, 
and  what  did  he  do  ?  but  went  and  got  the  whole  o' 
Paul's  wickedest  Epistle  off,  so  he  did,  and  offered  for 
te  tell  it  till  her,  all  at  the  wan  sitting.  Boys,  oh  !  but 
he  was  the  quare  poet !  And  she  got  marriet  on  a  boy 


238  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

out  o'  Ballinahone  on  him,  and  do  ye  know  what  I'm 
goin'  te  tell  ye  ?  he  tuk  to  the  hills  and  never  did  a 
hand's  turn  after." 

"  Surely,  Thomas,  you  have  been  in  love  yourself,  too, 
now,  with  Peggy- Anne,  and  your  present  wife  ? 
When  you  asked  them  to  marry  you,  you  had  to  pretend 
it  anyhow.  What  did  you  say  to  them  ?  " 

"  Is  it  me  ?  Well  it  was  this  way  ;  me  and  Peggy- 
Anne,  we  went  the  pair  of  us  to  Scarva  on  the  twelfth. 
Did  ever  ye  hear  tell  of  the  battle  o'  Scarva  ?  1  mind 
it  well.  I  had  a  wheen  o'  cloves  in  me  pocket,  and  Peggy- 
Anne  she  had  a  wee  screw  o'  pepperment  sweeties. 
Says  I  te  her  : 

"  '  Peggy- Anne,  wud  ye  conceit  a  clove  ? ' 

"  And  says  she  te  me  : 

"  '  Tak  a  sweetie,  Tummus  !  ' 

"  And  I  went  in  the  mornin'  and  giv  in  the  names 
till  the  Reverend  Crampsey  ;  so  I  did." 

After  all,  there  are  many  worse  ways  of  concluding 
the  business,  and  few  that  would  be  more  full  of  symbol. 
There  is  the  mutual  help  ;  the  inevitable  "  give  and 
take  "  of  married  life  ;  the  strength  and  pungency  of 
the  manly  clove  ;  the  melting  sweetness  of  the  maidenly 
peppermint ;  two  souls  united  in  the  savour  of  both 
scents  combined  rising  to  heaven  on  the  summer  air. 

I  could  not  recall  in  the  tale  or  history,  or  the  varied 
reminiscences  of  married  friends  on  this  interesting 
topic,  any  manner  of  "  proposal  "  more  delicate  and 
less  ostentatious.  Tummus  graciously  accepted  my 
congratulations  on  his  elegant  good  taste,  but  when  I 
inquired  about  the  preliminaries  of  his  second  alliance, 
he  only  shook  his  head  and  muttered,  "  Them  widdies  ! 
Them  widdies !  " 


OLD   TUMMUS    AND   THE   BATTLE   OF  SCARVA.         239 

In  this  there  is  almost  a  suggestion  that,  like  Captain 
Cuttle,  he  was  taken  at  a  disadvantage,  but  one  can 
scarcely  credit  it.  It  seems  impossible  that  he  would 
not  have  extricated  himself  with  the  inspired  dexterity 
of  a  Sherlock  Holmes,  or  the  happy  resource  of  a 
Stanley  Weyman  hero,  from  whatever  dilemma. 

"  As  I  was  sayin',"  he  resumed,  "  Did  ever  ye  hear 
tell  o'  the  battle  o'  Scarva  ?  " 

Of  course  I  had  heard  of  it.  Who  has  not  heard 
of  the  Oberammergau  of  the  North  ?  There,  in  a 
gentleman's  prettily  wooded  park,  on  a  large  open  meadow 
sloping  down  to  a  clear  running  brook,  is  yearly  enacted 
a  veritable  Passion  Play  of  the  Battle  of  the  Boyne. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  often  seen  it,  Thomas." 

"  I  have  that ;  many  and  many's  a  time.  But  there 
was  wan  battle  that  bate  all — do  ye  know  what  I'm 
goin'  te  tell  ye  ?  I  would  give  a  hundred  pounds  te 
see  thon  agin — so  I  wud.  Boys,  oh  i  it  was  gran'. 
There  was  me  own  aunt's  nephew  was  King  William, 
and  him  on  the  top  of  the  beautifullest  white  horse 
ever  ye  seen,  with  the  mane  o'  him  tied  with  wee  loops 
o'  braid,  or'nge  and  bleue.  Himself  had  an  or'nge 
scarf e  on  him  and  bleue  feathers  te  his  hat,  just  like 
one  o'  them  for'n  Princes,  and  his  Field-marshal  and 
Ginerals  just  the  same,  only  not  so  gran'.  And  King 
James,  they  had  a  fine  young  horse  for  him  that  Dan 
Cooke  bought  off  the  Reverend  Captain  Jack  :n  Moy 
Fair.  But  he  set  his  ears  back,  and  let  a  squeal  out  o' 
him,  nd  got  on  with  quare  maneuvers  whenever  Andy 
Wilson  came  near  him,  and  Andy — that  was  King 
James — he  says  : 

"  '  I  am  no  used  with  horse  exercise,  and  I  misdoubt 
thon  baste/ 


240  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

' '  But,'  says  Dan  Cooke,  '  up  with  ye  sonny,  and 
no  more  about  it.' 

"  Well,  with  that  Andy  turned  about,  and,  says  he, 
'  I'll  ride  no  blooded  horse  out  of  Moy.  I'd  sooner 
travel.  I'll  ride  none,  without  I  have  me  own  mare 
that  drawed  me  and  hersel'  and  the  childer  out  of 
Poyntzpass— so  I  won't.' 

"  With  that  the  Field-marshals  and  the  Ginerals 
and  the  Aiden-scampses  away  with  them,  and  they  found 
Andy's  mare  takin'  her  piece  by  the  roadside,  and  not 
agreeable  to  comin'  forbye.  Howsumever  she  was  coaxed 
along  with  an  Aiden-scamp  sootherin'  her  and  compli- 
mentin'  her  :  '  There's  a  daughter,  and  a  wee  jooel,'  and  a 
Field-marshal  holdin'  a  bite  o'  grass  in  the  front  o'  her, 
and  a  Gineral  persuadin'  her  in  the  rare  ;  and  they  got 
King  James  ontil  her,  and  the  two  armies  was  drawed 
up  on  the  banks  o'  the  wee  burn  that  stood  for  the  Boyne 
Watter.  Then  they  began,  quite  friendly  and  agreeable- 
ike,  temptin'  other. 

"  '  Come  on,  ye  thirsty  tyrant  ye,'  says  William. 

"  '  Come  on,  ye  low,  mane  usurper,'  says  James. 

"  '  Come  on  ye  heedious  enemy  to  ceevil  and  releegious 
liberty,  ye,'  says  William. 

"  '  Come  on,  ye  glorious,  pious,  and  immortal 
humbug,  ye,'  says  James. 

"  '  Come  on  ye  Glad-stone  ye,  and  Parnell,  and  Judas, 
and  Koran — and  Dathan — and  Abiram,'  says  William, 

"  '  Come  on  ye  onnatural  parasite  ye,  and  Crumwell, 
and  Shadrach — and  Mesech — and  Abednego,'  says 
James. 

"  '  Come  on  ye  auld  Puseyite,  and  no  more  about  it,' 
says  William.  With  that  he  joined  to  go  forrard,  and 
James  he  should  have  come  forrard  fornenst  him,  but 


OLD   TUMMUS    AND   THE   BATTLE  OF  SCARVA.         241 

Andy's  mare,  she  just  planted  the  fore-feet  o'  her  and 
stud  there  the  same  as  she  was  growed  in  the  ground. 
With  that  there  was  two  of  the  Aiden-scampses  come 
on,  and  of  all  the  pullin'  and  haulin' !  But  de'il  a  toe 
would  she  budge,  and  all  the  boys  began  larfin',  so  they 
did,  and  William  says,  says  he  : 

Come  on  till  I  pull  the  neck  out  o'  ye.  .  .  Come 
on,  me  brave  boy.  .  .  .  Fetch  her  a  clip  on  the  lug. 
Hit  her  a  skelp  behint.  Jab  her  with  yer  knee,  man 
alive.  Och,  come  on,  ye  Bap,  ye.' 

"  Well,  the  skin  o'  a  pig  couldn't  stand  that,  and 
Andy,  he  was  middlin'  smart  at  a  repartee,  so  '  Bap 
yersel','  says  he,  and  with  that  he  let  a  growl  out  o' 
him  ye  might  have  heared  te  Portadown.  Ye  never 
heared  the  like,  nor  what's  more,  Andy  Wilson's  mare, 
she  never  heared  the  like,  and  she  just  made  the  wan 
lep  and  landed  in  the  strame  fornenst  William  ;  then 
James  he  tuk  a  howlt  o'  William,  and  '  Bap  yersel', 
says  he  ;  and  with  that  he  coped  him  off  his  gran' 
white  horse,  and  he  drooked  him  in  the  watter. 

"  Then  there  was  the  fine  play,  and  the  best  divarsion 
ever  ye  seen.  Some  they  were  for  William,  and  some 
they  were  for  James,  and  every  wan  he  up  with  his 
fut  or  his  fist,  or  onny  other  weepon  that  come  convenient, 
and  the  boys  they  were  all  bloodin'  other,  and  murder 
and  all  sorts." 

"  I  thought  you  were  all  friends  at  Scarva  ?  " 

"  And  so  we  were — just  friends  fightin'  through  other." 

"  Was  any  one  hurt  ?  " 

"  Was  anyone  hurted  ?  Sure,  they  were  just  trailin' 
theirselves  off  the  ground.  Ye  wud  have  died  larfin'. 
There's  Jimmy  Hanlon  was  never  his  own  man  since, 
and  I  had  me  nose  broke  on  me — I  find  it  yet — and  some 

R 


242  HUMOURS   OF  IRISH   LIFE. 

says  there  was  a  wee  girl  from  Tanderagee  got  herself 
killed." 

"  What  became  of  William  ?  "  , 

"  He  was  clean  drowned." 

"  And  King  James  ?  " 

"  He's  in  hell  with  Johnny  M'Adam." 

I  tried  to  explain  that  I  had  not  meant  the  King 
himself,  but  the  actor  in  whom  nature  had  been  stronger 
than  dramatic  instinct,  but  Tummus  either  could  not 
or  would  not  dissociate  the  two.  He  really  was  not 
attending  to  me  :  I  had  perceived  for  some  time  that 
his  thoughts  were  wandering  far  from  our  conversation. 
Suddenly  a  spasm  convulsed  his  features.  With  one 
hand  he  raised  his  hoe  in  the  air  like  a  tomahawk, 
disregarding  the  weed  of  his  afternoon's  toil,  which 
was  left  limp  and  helpless  on  the  gravel ;  with  the 
other  he  grasped  his  side.  I  feared  the  old  man  was 
going  to  have  a  fit,  but  it  was  only  uncontrollable  laughter 
at  some  joke  as  yet  hidden  from  me. 

"  Well,  do  ye  know  what  I'm  goin'  te  tell  ye  ?  I 
wud  just  allow  William  was  a  middlin'  polished  boy, 
so  he  was.  He  subsidised  the  Pope  o'  Rome,  did  he  ? 
Man,  oh  1  Do  ye  tell  me  that  ?  That  bates  all,  and  him 
goin'  to  take  just  twiste  what  he  let  on." 

Old  Tummus  unquestionably  was  absolutely  sober 
at  the  beginning  of  our  interview,  and  had  remained 
"  dry  "  during  it,  but  he  now  became  gradually  intoxi- 
cated with  what  had  appeared  to  him  to  be  his  hero's 
splendid  cunning.  The  thought  of  a  genius  which  could 
overreach  someone  else  in  a  bargain  rose  to  his  brain 
like  champagne.  He  swayed  on  his  feet ;  he  ran  his 
words  into  each  other  ;  he  assumed  a  gaiety  of  manner 
and  expression  quite  unusual  to  him. 


OLD   TUMMUS   AND   THE  BATTLE  OF   SCARVA.         243 

I  watched  him  lurch  down  the  walk,  and  then  pause 
on  the  bridge.  He  supported  himself  by  the  wooden 
railing,  which  creaked  as  he  swayed  to  and  fro,  and 
addressed  the  stream  and  the  trees — 

"  Do  ye  know  what  I'm  goin'  to  tell  ye  ?  I  wud  just 
allow  he  was  a  middlin'  polished  boy — so  he  was." 


244  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

The   Game   Leg. 

From  "  The  Furry  Farm." 
BY  K.  F.  PURDON. 

HEFFERNAN'S  house  at  the  Furry  Farm  stood  very  back- 
wards from  the  roadside,  hiding  itself,  you'd  really 
think,  from  anyone  that  might  be  happening  by.  As 
if  it  need  do  that !  Why,  there  was  no  more  snug, 
well-looked-after  place  in  the  whole  of  Ardenoo  than 
Heffernan's  always  was,  with  full  and  plenty  in  it  for 
man  and  beast,  though  it  wasn't  to  say  too  tasty-looking. 

And  it  was  terrible  lonesome.  There  wasn't  a  neigh- 
bour within  the  bawl  of  an  ass  of  it.  Heffernan,  of 
course,  had  always  been  used  to  it,  so  that  he  didn't 
so  much  mind  ;  still,  he  missed  Art,  after  he  going 
off  with  little  Rosy  Rafferty.  That  was  nigh  hand 
as  bad  upon  him  as  losing  the  girl  herself.  He  had  got 
to  depend  on  Art  for  every  hand's  turn,  a  thing  that 
left  him  worse,  when  he  was  without  him.  And  he 
was  very  slow-going.  As  long  as  Julia  was  there,  she 
did  all,  and  Heffernan  might  stand  to  one  side  and  look 
at  her.  And  so  he  missed  her  now,  more  than  ever  ; 
and  still  he  had  no  wish  to  see  her  back,  though  even  to 
milk  the  cows  came  awkward  to  him. 

He  was  contending  with  the  work  one  evening,  and  the 
calves  in  particular  were  leaving  him  distracted  ;  above 
all,  a  small  little  white  one  that  he  designed  for  Rosy, 
when  he'd  have  her  Woman  of  the  House  at  the  Furry 
Farm.  That  calf,  I  needn't  say,  was  not  the  pick  of 
the  bunch,  but  as  Mickey  thought  to  himself,  a  girl 
wouldn't  know  any  better  than  choose  a  calf  by  the 


THE  GAME  LEG.  245 

colour,  and  there  would  be  no  good  wasting  anything 
of  value  on  her.  At  all  events,  it  would  be  "  child's 
pig  and  Daddy's  bacon  "  most  likely  with  that  calf. 
But  sure,  what  matter  !  Rosy  was  never  to  have  any 
call  to  it,  or  anything  else  at  the  Furry  Farm. 

Those  calves  were  a  very  sweet  lot,  so  that  Mickey 
might  have  been  feeling  all  the  pleasure  in  life,  just 
watching  them,  with  their  soft,  little  muzzles  down  in 
the  warm,  sweet  milk,  snorting  with  the  pure  enjoyment. 
But  Mickey  was  only  grousing  to  get  done,  and  vexed 
at  the  way  the  big  calves  were  shoving  the  little  ones 
away,  and  still  he  couldn't  hinder  them.  Art  used  to 
regulate  them  very  simple  by  means  of  a  little  ash  quick 
he  kept,  to  slap  the  forward  calves  across  the  face  when 
they'd  get  too  impudent.  But  as  often  as  Mickey  had 
seen  him  do  that,  he  couldn't  do  the  same.  The  ash 
quick  was  so  close  to  him  that  if  it  had  been  any  nearer 
it  would  have  bitten  him.  Stuck  up  in  a  corner  of  the 
bit  of  ruin  that  had  once  been  Castle  Heffernan  it  was. 
But  it  might  as  well  have  been  in  America  for  all  the  good 
it  was  to  Mickey. 

"  I  wish  to  God  I  was  rid  of  the  whole  of  yous,  this 
minute  !  "  says  he  to  himself,  and  he  with  his  face  all 
red  and  steamy,  and  the  milk  slobbering  out  of  the 
pail  down  upon  the  ground,  the  way  the  calves  were 
butting  him  about  the  legs. 

That  very  minute,  he  heard  a  sound  behind  him. 
He  turned  about,  and,  my  dear  !  the  heart  jumped 
into  his  mouth,  as  he  saw  a  great,  immense  red  face, 
just  peeping  over  the  wall  that  shut  in  his  yard  from 
the  boreen.  That  wall  was  no  more  than  four  feet 
high.  Wouldn't  anyone  think  it  strange  to  see  such  a 
face,  only  that  far  from  the  ground  !  and  it  with  a 


246  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

bushy,  black  beard  around  it,  and  big  rolling  eyes, 
and  a  wide,  old  hat  cocked  back  upon  it  ?  You'd  have 
to  think  it  was  something  "  not  right  "  ;  an  Appearance 
or  Witchery  work  of  some  kind. 

But,  let  alone  that,  isn't  there  something  very  terri- 
fying and  frightful  in  finding  yourself  being  watched, 
when  you  think  you're  alone  ;  and  of  all  things,  by  a 
man  ?  The  worst  of  a  wild  beast  wouldn't  put  the  same 
bad  fear  in  your  heart. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Heffernan,"  says  the  newcomer, 
with  a  grin  upon  him,  free  and  pleasant ;  "  that's  a 
fine  lot  of  calves  you  have  there  !  " 

Heffernan  was  so  put  about  that  he  made  no  answer, 
and  the  man  went  on  to  say,  "  Is  it  that  you  don't  know 
me  ?  Sure,  you  couldn't  forget  poor  old  Hopping 
Hughie  as  simple  as  that !  " 

And  he  gave  himself  a  shove,  so  that  he  raised  his 
shoulders  above  the  wall.  A  brave,  big  pair  they  were, 
too,  but  they  were  only  just  held  up  on  crutches. 
Hughie  could  balance  himself  upon  them,  and  get 
about,  as  handy  as  you  please.  But  he  was  dead  of  his 
two  legs. 

"Oh,  Hughie  .  .  .  !  "  says  Heffernan,  pretty  stiff ; 
"  well,  and  what  do  you  want  here  ?  " 

"  Och,  nothing  in  life.  .  .  ." 

"  Take  it,  then,  and  let  you  be  off  about  your 
business  !  "  says  Mickey,  as  quick  as  a  flash,  for  once  ; 
and  he  that  was  proud  when  he  had  it  said  ! 

Hughie  had  a  most  notorious  tongue  himself,  but  he 
knew  when  to  keep  it  quiet,  and  he  thought  it  as  good  to 
appear  very  mild  and  down  in  himself  now,  so  he  said, 
"  My  business  !  sure,  what  word  is  that  to  say  to  a  poor 
old  fellah  on  chrutches  1  Not  like  you,  Mr.  Heffernan, 


THE   GAME  LEG.  247 

that'll  be  off  to  the  fair  of  Balloch  to-morrow  morning, 
bright  and  early,  with  them  grand  fine  calves  of  yours. 
The  price  they'll  go  !  There  isn't  the  peel  of  them  in 
Ardenoo  !  " 

"  Do  you  tell  me  that  ?  "  says  Heffernan,  that  a  child 
could  cheat. 

"  That's  what  they  do  be  telling  me,"  says  Hughie. 
He  could  build  a  nest  in  your  ear,  he  was  that  cunning. 
He  thought  he  saw  a  chance  of  getting  to  the  fair  himself, 
and  a  night's  lodging  as  well,  if  he  managed  right. 

"  I  wish  to  goodness  I  could  get  them  there,  so," 
says  Mickey,  "  and  hasn't  one  to  drive  them  for  me  !  " 

"  Would  I  do  ?  "  says  Hughie. 

Heffernan  looked  at  him  up  and  down. 

"  Sure  you'd  not  be  able  !  " 

"  Whoo  !  me  not  able  ?  Maybe  I'm  like  the  singed 
cat,  better  than  I  look  !  I'm  slow,  but  fair  and  easy 
goes  far  in  a  day  !  Never  you  fear  but  I'll  get  your 
calves  to  Balloch  the  same  way  the  boy  ate  the  cake, 
very  handy  .  .  .  ." 

The  simplest  thing  would  have  been  for  Heffernan 
to  take  and  drive  the  calves  himself.  But  he  never  had 
the  fashion  of  doing  such  things.  Anyway,  it  wouldn't 
answer  for  the  people  to  see  a  man  with  a  good  means  of 
his  own,  like  Mickey,  turning  drover  that  way. 

So  he  thought  again,  while  Hughie  watched  him,  and 
then  says  he,  "  You'll  have  to  be  off  out  of  this  before 
the  stars  have  left  the  sky  !  " 

"  And  why  wouldn't  I  ?  "  says  Hughie  ;  "  only  give 
me  a  bit  of  supper  and  a  shakedown  for  the  night,  the 
way  I'll  be  fresh  for  the  road  to-morrow." 

Hughie  was  looking  to  be  put  sitting  down  in  the 
kitchen  alongside  Heffernan  himself,  and  to  have  the 


248  HUMOURS   OF  IRISH  LIFE. 

settle-bed  foreninst  the  fire  to  sleep  in.  But  he  had  to 
content  himself  with  the  straw  in  the  barn  and  a  plateful 
carried  out  to  him.  Queer  and  slow-going  Heffernan 
might  be,  but  he  wasn't  thinking  of  having  the  likes  of 
Hopping  Hughie  in  his  chimney-corner,  where  he  had 
often  thought  to  see  little  Rosy  Rafferty  and  she  smiling 
at  him. 

Hughie  took  it  all  very  contented.  Gay  and  happy 
he  was  after  his  supper,  and  soon  fell  asleep  on  the 
straw,  with  his  ragged  pockets  that  empty  that  the  divil 
could  dance  a  hornpipe  in  them  and  not  strike  a  copper 
there  ;  while  Mickey  above  in  bed  in  his  own  house, 
with  his  fine  farm  and  all  his  stock  about  him,  calves  and 
cows  and  pigs,  not  to  speak  of  the  money  in  the  old 
stocking  under  the  thatch  .  .  .  Mickey  couldn't 
sleep,  only  worrying,  thinking  was  he  right  to  go  to  sell 
the  calves  at  all  ;  and  to  be  letting  Hughie  drive  them  ! 

"  I  had  little  to  do,"  he  thought,  "  to  be  letting  him  in 
about  the  place  at  all,  and  couldn't  tell  what  divilment 
he  might  be  up  to,  as  soon  as  he  gets  me  asleep  !  Hughie 's 
terrible  wicked,  and  as  strong  as  a  ditch  !  I  done  well 
to  speak  him  civil,  anyway.  But  I'll  not  let  them  calves 
stir  one  peg  out  of  this  with  him  !  I'd  sooner  risk 
keeping  them  longer  .  .  .  ." 

There's  the  way  he  was  going  on,  tossing  and  tumbling 
and  tormenting  himself,  as  if  bed  wasn't  a  place  to  rest 
yourself  in  and  not  be  raking  up  annoyances. 

So  it  wasn't  till  near  morning  that  Mickey  dozed  off, 
and  never  wakened  till  it  was  more  than  time  to  be  off  to 
the  fair. 

Up  he  jumped  and  out  to  stop  Hughie.  But  the  yard 
was  silent  and  empty.  Hughie  and  the  calves  were  gone. 

Mickey  was  more  uneasy  than  ever. 


THE   GAME  LEG.  249 

"  A  nice  bosthoon  I  must  be,"  he  thought,  "  to  go 
trust  my  good-looking  calves  to  a  k'nat  like  Hughie  ! 
And  he  to  go  off  without  any  breakfast,  too  .  .  .  !  " 

Heffernan  was  a  good  warrant  to  feed  man  or  beast. 
But  he  mightn't  have  minded  about  Hughie,  that  had 
plenty  of  little  ways  of  providing  for  himself.  His 
pockets  would  be  like  sideboards,  the  way  he  would  have 
them  stuck  out  with  meat  and  eggs,  and  so  on,  that  he 
would  be  given  along  the  road.  Hughie  was  better  fed 
than  plenty  that  bestowed  food  upon  him. 

Balloch,  where  the  fair  is  held,  is  the  wildest  and  most 
lonesome  place  in  Ardenoo,  with  a  steep,  rough  bit  of 
road  leading  up  to  it,  very  awkward  to  drive  along. 
Up  this  comes  Heffernan,  on  his  sidecar,  driving  his  best, 
and  in  a  great  hurry  to  know  where  he  would  come  on 
Hughie.  He  had  it  laid  out  in  his  own  mind  that  sight  nor 
light  of  his  calves  he  never  would  get  in  this  world  again. 
So  it  was  a  great  surprise  to  him  to  find  them  there 
before  him,  safe  and  sound.  His  heart  lightened  at 
that  as  if  a  mill-stone  was  lifted  off  it. 

And  the  fine  appearance  there  was  upon  them. 
Not  a  better  spot  in  the  fair-green  than  where  Hughie 
had  them,  opposite  a  drink-tent  where  the  people  would 
be  thronging  most  !  And  it  was  a  choice  spot  for 
Hughie  too.  Happy  and  contented  he  was,  his  back 
against  a  tree,  leaning  his  weight  on  one  crutch  and  the 
other  convenient  to  his  hand. 

"  So  there's  where  you  are,"  says  Hughie,  a  bit 
scornful.  Sure  it  was  a  foolish  remark  to  pass  and  the 
man  there  before  him,  as  plain  as  the  nose  on  your  face. 
But  Hughie  was  puzzled  too  by  the  look  of  relief  he  saw 
on  Mickey's  face.  He  understood  nothing  of  what 
Heffernan  was  passing  through.  It's  an  old  saying  and 


250  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

a  true  one,  "  Them  that  has  the  world  has  care  !  "  but 
them  that  hasn't  it,  what  do  they  know  about  it  ? 

While  Hughie  was  turning  this  over  in  his  mind, 
Mickey  was  throwing  an  eye  upon  the  calves,  and  then, 
seeing  they  were  all  right,  he  was  bandying  off  with 
himself,  when  Hughie  said,  "  Terrible  dry  work  it  is, 
driving  stock  along  them  dusty  roads  since  the  early 
morning,"  and  he  rubbed  the  back  of  his  hand  across 
his  mouth  with  a  grin. 

At  that,  Mickey  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket  and  felt 
round  about,  and  then  pulled  it  out  empty. 

"I'll  see  you  later,  Hughie,"  says  he,  "  I'll  not  forget 
you,  never  fear  !  Just  let  you  wait  here  till  I  have  the 
poor  mare  attended  to  that  drew  me  here  .  .  .  ." 

So  he  went  off  to  do  this,  and  then  into  the  drink- 
tent  with  him,  the  way  he  could  be  getting  a  sup  himself. 
But  no  sign  of  he  to  give  anything  to  Hughie.  And 
there  now  is  where  Mickey  made  a  big  mistake. 

He  met  up  with  a  couple  or  three  that  he  was 
acquainted  with  in  the  tent,  and  they  began  to  talk  of 
this  thing  and  that  thing,  so  that  it  was  a  gay  little  while 
before  Mickey  came  out  again. 

When  he  did  :  "  What  sort  is  the  drink  in  there,  Mr. 
Heffernan  ?  "  says  Hughie. 

Now  what  Mickey  had  taken  at  that  time  was  no  more 
than  would  warm  the  cockles  of  his  heart.  So  he 
looked  quite  pleasant  and  said,  "  Go  in  yourself,  Hughie, 
and  here's  what  will  enable  you  to  judge  it !  " 

And  he  held  out  a  shilling  to  Hughie. 

"  A  bird  never  yet  flew  upon  the  one  wing,  Mr. 
Heffernan  !  "  said  Hughie,  that  was  looking  to  get  another 
shilling,  and  that  would  be  only  his  due  for  driving 
the  calves. 


THE   GAME  LEG.  251 

Mickey  said  nothing  one  way  or  the  other,  only  went 
off,  and  left  Hughie  standing  there,  holding  out  his  hand 
in  front  of  him  with  the  shilling  in  it,  lonesome. 

He  that  was  vexed  !  He  got  redder  in  the  face  than 
ever,  and  gave  out  a  few  curses,  till  he  remembered  there 
wasn't  one  to  hear  him.  So  he  stopped  and  went  into 
the  tent  and  I  needn't  say  he  got  the  best  value  he  could 
there. 

But  all  the  time  he  was  thinking  how  badly  Heffernan 
was  after  treating  him,  putting  him  off  without  enough 
to  see  him  through  the  fair  even,  let  alone  with  a  trifle 
in  his  pockets  to  help  him  on  his  rounds.  He  began 
planning  how  he  could  pay  out  Mickey. 

He  got  himself  back  to  the  same  spot,  near  the  calves, 
to  see  what  would  happen.  After  a  time,  he  saw 
Heffernan  coming  back,  and  little  Barney  Maguire  with 
him.  A  very  decent  boy  Barney  was,  quiet  and  agree- 
able ;  never  too  anxious  for  work,  but  very  knowledgable 
about  how  things  should  be  done,  from  a  wake  to  a 
sheep-shearing.  Heffernan  always  liked  to  have  Barney 
with  him  at  a  fair. 

The  two  of  them  stood  near  the  calves,  careless-like, 
as  if  they  took  no  interest  in  them  at  all. 

A  dealer  came  up. 

"  How  much  for  them  calves  ?  Not  that  I'm  in  need 
of  the  like,"  says  he. 

"  Nobody  wants  you  to  take  them,  so,"  says  Barney, 
"  but  the  price  is  three  pounds  ...  or  was  it 
guineas  you're  after  saying,  Mr.  Heffernan  ?  " 

Heffernan  said  nothing,  and  the  dealer  spoke  up  very 
fierce  ;  "  Three  pounds  !  Put  thirty  shillings  on  them, 
and  I'll  be  talking  to  ye  !  " 

Mickey  again  only  looked  at  his  adviser,  and  says 


252  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

Barney,  "  Thirty  shillings !  Tis  you  that's  bidding 
wide,  this  day !  May  the  Lord  forgive  you  I  Is  it 
wanting  a  present  you  are  of  the  finest  calves  in 
Ardenoo  ?  " 

Heffernan  swelled  out  with  delight  at  that ;  as  if 
Barney's  word  could  make  his  calves  either  better  or 
worse. 

"  Wasn't  it  fifty-seven  and  sixpence  you're  after  telling 
me  you  were  offered  only  yesterday,  Mr.  Heffernan," 
says  Barney,  "  just  for  the  small  ones  of  the  lot  ?  " 

"  Och  !  I  dare  say  !  don't  you  ?  "  says  the  dealer  ; 
"  the  woman  that  owns  you  it  was  that  made  you  that 
bid,  to  save  your  word !  " 

Poor  Mickey  !  and  he  hadn't  a  woman  at  all !  The 
dealer  of  course  being  strange  couldn't  know  that,  nor 
why  Hughie  gave  a  laugh  out  of  him. 

But  that  didn't  matter.  Mickey  took  no  notice.  A 
man  that's  a  bit  "  thick  "  escapes  many  a  prod  that 
another  would  feel  sharp.  So  in  all  things  you  can  see 
how  them  that  are  afflicted  are  looked  after  in  some  little 
way  we  don't  know. 

The  dealer  looked  at  the  calves  again. 

"  Troth,  I'm  thinking  it's  the  wrong  ones  yous  have 
here  !  Yous  must  have  forgotten  them  fine  three-pound 
calves  at  home  !  " 

And  Mickey  began  looking  very  anxiously  at  them,  as 
he  thought  maybe  he  had  made  some  mistake. 

"  Them  calves,"  says  the  dealer,  slowly,  "  isn't  like 
a  pretty  girl,  that  everyone  will  be  looking  to  get !  And, 
besides,  they're  no  size  !  A  terrible  small  calf  they  are  !  " 

"  Small  !  "  said  Barney,  "  It's  too  big  they  are  !  And 
if  they're  little  itself,  what  harm !  Isn't  a  mouse  the 
prettiest  animal  you  might  ask  to  see  ?  " 


THE   GAME  LEG.  253 

"  Ay,  it  is,"  says  the  dealer,  "  but  it'll  take  a  power  of 
mice  to  stock  a  farm  !  "  and  off  with  him  in  a  real  passion 
— by  the  way  of. 

But  Barney  knew  better  than  to  mind.  The  dealer 
came  back,  and  at  long  last  the  calves  were  sold  and  paid 
for.  Then  the  lucky-penny  had  to  be  given.  Hard- 
set  Barney  was  to  get  Heffernan  to  do  that.  In  the  end 
Mickey  was  so  bothered  over  it  that  he  dropped  a  shilling 
just  where  Hughie  was  standing  leaning  his  weight  on 
the  one  crutch  as  usual. 

As  quick  as  a  flash,  he  had  the  other  up,  and  made  a 
kind  of  a  lurch  forward,  as  if  to  look  for  the  money.  But 
he  managed  to  get  the  second  crutch  down  upon  the 
shilling,  to  hide  it ;  and  then  he  looked  round  about 
the  ground  as  innocent  as  a  child,  as  if  he  was  striving 
his  best  to  find  the  money  for  Mickey. 

"  Where  should  it  be,  at  all,  at  all  ?  "  says  Mickey  ; 
"  bewitched  it  should  be,  to  say  it's  gone  like  that !  ' 

And  Heffernan,  standing  there  with  his  mouth  open, 
looked  as  if  he  had  lost  all  belonging  to  him.  Then  he 
began  searching  about  a  good  piece  off  from  where  the 
shilling  fell. 

"  It's  not  there  you'll  get  it !  "  said  Barney,  "  sure 
you  ought  always  look  for  a  thing  where  you  lost  it !  " 

He  went  over  to  Hughie. 

"  None  of  your  tricks,  now !  It's  you  has  Mr. 
Heffernan 's  money,  and  let  you  give  it  up  to  him  !  " 

"  Is  it  me  have  it  ?  Sure  if  I  had,  what  would  I  do, 
only  hand  it  over  to  the  man  that  owns  it !  "  says  Hughie. 

On  the  word,  he  let  himself  down  upon  the  ground, 
and  slithered  over  on  top  of  the  shilling. 

But,  quick  and  all  as  he  was,  Barney  was  quicker. 


254  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  Sure,  you  have  it  there,  you  vagabone,  you ! 
Give  it  up,  and  get  off  out  of  this  with  yourself !  " 

And  he  caught  Hughie  a  clip  on  the  side  of  the  head  that 
sent  him  sprawling  on  the  broad  of  his  back  And  there, 
right  enough,  under  him,  was  the  shilling. 

So  Barney  picked  it  up,  and  for  fear  of  any  other 
mistake,  he  handed  it  to  the  dealer. 

"  It's  an  ugly  turn  whatever,  to  be  knocking  a  poor 
cripple  about  that-a-way  !  "  said  the  dealer,  dropping 
the  lucky-penny  into  his  pocket. 

"  Ach,  how  poor  he  is,  and  let  him  be  crippled, 
itself !  "  says  Barney  ;  "  it's  easy  seeing  you're  strange 
to  Ardenoo,  or  you'd  not  be  compassionating  Hughie 
so  tender  !  " 

No  more  was  said  then,  only  in  the  tent  with  them 
again  to  wet  the  bargain.  Hughie  gathered  himself 
up.  He  was  in  the  divil's  own  temper.  Small  blame 
to  him,  too  !  Let  alone  the  disappointment  about  the 
shilling,  and  the  knock  Barney  gave  him,  the  people 
all  had  a  laugh  at  him.  And  he  liked  that  as  little  as 
the  next  one.  You'd  think  he'd  curse  down  the  stars 
out  of  the  skies  this  time,  the  way  he  went  on. 

And  it  wasn't  Barney's  clout  he  cared  about,  half  as 
much  as  Mickey's  meanness.  It  was  that  had  him  so 
mad.  He  felt  he  must  pay  Heffernan  out. 

He  considered  a  bit ;   then  he  gave  his  leg  a  slap. 

"  I  have  it  now  !  "  he  said  to  himself. 

He  beckoned  two  young  boys  up  to  him,  that  were 
striving  to  sell  a  load  of  cabbage  plants  they  had  there 
upon  the  donkey's  back,  and  getting  bad  call  for  them. 

"  It's  a  poor  trade  yous  are  doing  to-day,"  said 
Hughie  ;  "  and  I  was  thinking  in  meself  yous  should  be 
very  dry.  You  wouldn't  care  to  earn  the  price  of  a  pint  ? " 


THE   GAME   LEG.  255 

"  How  could  we  ?  "  says  the  boys. 

"  I'll  tell  you  !  Do  you  see  that  car  ?  "  and  Hughie 
pointed  to  where  Heffernan  had  left  his  yoke  drawn  up, 
and  the  old  mare  cropping  a  bit  as  well  as  she  could, 
being  tied  by  the  head  ;  "  well,  anyone  that  will  pull 
the  linch-pin  out  of  the  wheel,  on  the  far  side  of  the  car, 
needn't  be  without  tuppence  to  wet  his  whistle  ..." 
and  Hughie  gave  a  rattle  to  a  few  coppers  he  had  left  in 
his  pocket. 

"  Yous'll  have  to  be  smart  about  it,  too,"  said  he, 
"  or  maybe  whoever  owns  that  car  will  have  gone  off 
upon  it,  afore  yous  have  time  to  do  the  primest  bit  of 
fun  that  ever  was  seen  upon  this  fair  green  !  " 

"  Whose  is  the  car  ?  " 

"  Och,  if  I  know  !  "  says  Hughie  ;  "  but  what  matter 
for  that  ?  One  man  is  as  good  as  another  at  the  bottom 
of  a  ditch  !  ay,  and  better.  It  will  be  the  height  of 
divarshin  to  see  the  roll-off  they'll  get  below  there  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill  .  .  ." 

"  Maybe  they'd  get  hurted  !  "  said  the  boys. 

"  Hurted,  how-are-ye  !  "  says  Hughie  ;  "  how  could 
anyone  get  hurted  so  simple  as  that  ?  I'd  be  the  last 
in  the  world  to  speak  of  such  a  thing  in  that  case  !  But 
if  yous  are  afraid  of  doing  it  .  .  ." 

"  Afraid  !  that's  queer  talk  to  be  having  !  "  says  one 
of  them,  very  stiff,  for  like  all  boys,  he  thought  nothing 
so  bad  as  to  have  *'  afraid  "  said  to  him  ;  "  no,  but 
we're  ready  to  do  as  much  as  the  next  one  !  " 

"  I  wouldn't  doubt  yiz  !  "  said  Hughie  ;  "  h-away 
with  the  two  of  you,  now !  Only  mind !  don't  let 
on  a  word  of  this  to  any  sons  of  man.  .  ." 

Off  they  went,  and  Hughie  turned  his  back  on  them  and 
the  car,  and  stared  at  whatever  was  going  on  the  other 


256  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

end  of  the  fair.  He  hadn't  long  to  wait,  before  Heffernan 
and  Barney  and  the  dealer  came  out  of  the  drink-tent. 
Hughie  took  a  look  at  them  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye. 

"  Ah  !  "  he  said  to  himself,  "  all  'purty-well-I-thank- 
ye  ! '  after  what  they  drank  inside  !  But,  wait  a  bit, 
Mickey  Heffernan.  ..." 

The  three  men  went  over  to  where  Heffernan 's 
car  was  waiting.  The  boys  were  gone.  The  other  two 
men  helped  Mickey  to  get  his  yoke  ready.  Then  he 
got  up,  and  they  shook  hands  a  good  many  times. 
Heffernan  chucked  at  the  reins  and  started  off. 

Hughie  was  watching,  and  when  he  saw  how  steadily 
the  old  mare  picked  her  way  down  the  steep  boreen, 
he  began  to  be  afraid  he  hadn't  hit  on  such  a  very  fine 
plan  at  all.  And  if  Mickey  had  only  had  the  wit  to  leave 
it  all  to  the  poor  dumb  beast,  she  might  have  brought 
him  home  safe  enough. 

But  nothing  would  to  him,  only  give  a  shout  and  a 
flourish  of  the  whip,  half-way  down  the  hill.  The  mare 
started  and  gave  a  jump.  She  was  big  and  awk'ard, 
much  like  Mickey  himself.  Still  it  was  no  fault  of  her 
that,  when  she  got  to  the  turn,  the  wheel  came  off, 
and  rolled  away  to  one  side.  Down  came  the  car, 
Mickey  fell  off,  and  there  he  lay,  till  some  people  that  saw 
what  was  going  on  ran  down  the  hill  after  him,  and  got 
the  mare  on  to  her  feet,  and  not  a  scratch  on  her. 

But  poor  Mickey  !  It  was  easy  to  see  with  half  an 
eye  that  he  was  badly  hurt. 

"  Someone  will  have  to  drive  him  home,  whatever," 
said  Barney,  coming  up  the  hill  to  look  for  more  help, 
after  doing  his  best  to  get  Mickey  to  stand  up  ;  and  sure, 
how  was  he  to  do  that,  upon  a  broken  leg  ?  "  A  poor 
thing  it  is,  too,  to  see  how  a  thing  of  the  kind  could  occur 


THE   GAME   LEG.  257 

so   simple  !    and   a   decent   man   like   Heffernan  to   be 
nigh  hand  killed.  .  .  ." 

'  'Deed,  and  he  is  a  decent  man  !  "  said  Hughie  ; 
'  and  why  wouldn't  he  ?  I'd  be  a  decent  man  meself 
if  I  had  the  Furry  Farm  and  it  stocked.  .  .  ." 

"  He's  in  a  poor  way  now,  in  any  case,"  said  Barney. 
"  I  doubt  will  he  ever  get  over  this  rightly  !  That's  apt 
to  be  a  leg  to  him  all  his  life  !  " 

"  Well,  and  so,  itself !  "  said  Hughie  ;  "  haven't 
I  two  of  them  lame  legs  ?  and  who  thinks  to  pity 
Hughie  ?  " 

"  It's  another  matter  altogether,  with  a  man  like  Mr. 
Heffernan,"  said  Barney  ;  "  what  does  the  like  of  you 
miss,  by  not  being  able  to  get  about,  compared  with  a 
man  that  might  spend  his  time  walking  a-through  his 
cattle,  and  looking  at  his  crops  growing,  every  day  in  the 
week  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure,  he  could  be  doing  all  that !  "  said 
Hughie,  "  but  when  a  thing  of  this  kind  happens  out 
so  awkward,  it's  the  will  of  God,  and  the  will  of  man 
can't  abate  that !  " 


258  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

Trinket's  Colt. 

From  "  Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish  P.M.' 

BY   E.   CE.    SOMERVILLE   AND   MARTIN   ROSS. 

IT  was  petty  sessions  day  in  Skebawn,  a  cold,  grey 
day  in  February.  A  case  of  trespass  had  dragged  its 
burden  of  cross-summonses  and  cross-swearing  far  into 
the  afternoon,  and  when  I  left  the  bench  my  head  was 
singing  from  the  bellowings  of  the  attorneys,  and  the 
smell  of  their  clients  was  heavy  upon  my  palate. 

The  streets  still  testified  to  the  fact  that  it  was  market 
day,  and  I  evaded  with  difficulty  the  sinuous  course 
of  carts  full  of  soddenly  screwed  people,  and  steered 
an  equally  devious  one  for  myself  among  the  groups 
anchored  round  the  doors  of  the  public-houses. 
Skebawn  possesses,  among  its  legion  of  public-houses, 
one  establishment  which  timorously,  and  almost  imper- 
ceptibly, proffers  tea  to  the  thirsty.  I  turned  in  there, 
as  was  my  custom  on  court  days,  and  found  the  little 
dingy  den,  known  as  the  Ladies'  Coffee  Room,  in  the 
occupancy  of  my  friend  Mr.  Florence  McCarthy  Knox, 
who  was  drinking  strong  tea  and  eating  buns  with 
serious  simplicity.  It  was  a  first  and  quite  unexpected 
glimpse  of  that  domesticity  that  has  now  become  a  marked 
feature  in  his  character. 

"  You're  the  very  man  I  wanted  to  see,"  I  said,  as 
I  sat  down  beside  him  at  the  oilcloth  covered  table  ;  "  a 
man  I  know  in  England  who  is  not  much  of  a  judge  of 
character  has  asked  me  to  buy  him  a  four-year-old 
down  here,  and  as  I  should  rather  be  stuck  by  a  friend 
than  a  dealer,  I  wish  you'd  take  over  the  job." 


TRINKET'S  COLT.  259 

Flurry  poured  himself  out  another  cup  of  tea,  and 
dropped  three  lumps  of  sugar  into  it  in  silence. 

Finally  he  said,  "  There  isn't  a  four-year-old  in  this 
country  that  I'd  be  seen  dead  with  at  a  pig  fair." 

This  was  discouraging,  from  the  premier  authority 
on  horseflesh  in  the  district. 

"  But  it  isn't  six  weeks  since  you  told  me  you  had  the 
finest  filly  in  your  stables  that  was  ever  foaled  in  the 
County  Cork,"  I  protested  ;  "  what's  wrong  with  her  ?  " 

"  Oh,  is  it  that  filly  ?  "  said  Mr.  Knox,  with  a  lenient 
smile  ;  "  she's  gone  these  three  weeks  from  me.  I 
swapped  her  and  £6  for  a  three-year-old  Ironmonger 
colt,  and  after  that  I  swapped  the  colt  and  £19  for  that 
Bandon  horse  I  rode  last  week  at  your  place,  and  after 
that  again  I  sold  the  Bandon  horse  for  £75  to  old  Welply, 
and  I  had  to  give  him  back  a  couple  of  sovereigns  luck- 
money.  You  see,  I  did  pretty  well  with  the  filly  after  all." 

"  Yes,  yes — oh,  rather,"  I  assented,  as  one  dizzily 
accepts  the  propositions  of  a  bimetallist ;  "  and  you 
don't  know  of  anything  else ?  " 

The  room  in  which  we  were  seated  was  closed  from 
the  shop  by  a  door  with  a  muslin-curtained  window 
in  it ;  several  of  the  panes  were  broken,  and  at  this 
juncture  two  voices,  that  had  for  some  time  carried  on 
a  discussion,  forced  themselves  upon  our  attention. 

"  Begging  your  pardon  for  contradicting  you,  ma'am," 
said  the  voice  of  Mrs.  McDonald,  proprietress  of  the 
tea-shop,  and  a  leading  light  in  Skebawn  Dissenting 
circles,  shrilly  tremulous  with  indignation,  "  if  the 
servants  I  recommend  you  won't  stop  with  you,  it's  no 
fault  of  mine.  If  respectable  young  girls  are  set  picking 
grass  out  of  your  gravel,  in  place  of  their  proper  work, 
certainly  they  will  give  warning  !  " 


200  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

The  voice  that  replied  struck  me  as  being  a  notable 
one,  well-bred  and  imperious. 

"  When  I  take  a  bare-footed  slut  out  of  a  cabin,  I 
don't  expect  her  to  dictate  to  me  what  her  duties  are  !  " 

Flurry  jerked  up  his  chin  in  a  noiseless  laugh.  "  It's 
my  grandmother  !  '  he  whispered.  "I  bet  you  Mrs. 
McDonald  don't  get  much  change  out  of  her  !  " 

"  If  I  set  her  to  clean  the  pig-sty  I  expect  her  to 
obey  me,"  continued  the  voice  in  accents  that  would 
have  made  me  clean  forty  pig-stys  had  she  desired  me 
to  do  so. 

"  Very  well,  ma'am,"  retorted  Mrs.  McDonald,  "  if 
that's  the  way  you  treat  your  servants,  you  needn't 
come  here  again  looking  for  them.  I  consider  your 
conduct  is  neither  that  of  a  lady  nor  a  Christian  !  " 

"  Don't  you,  indeed  ?  "  replied  Flurry's  grandmother. 
"  Well,  your  opinion  doesn't  greatly  distress  me,  for, 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't  think  you're  much  of  a 
judge." 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  she'd  score  ?  "  murmured  Flurry, 
who  was  by  this  time  applying  his  eye  to  the  hole  in 
the  muslin  curtain.  "  She's  off,"  he  went  on,  returning 
to  his  tea.  "  She's  a  great  character  !  She's  eighty- 
three,  if  she's  a  day,  and  she's  as  sound  on  her  legs 
as  a  three-year-old  !  Did  you  see  that  old  shandrydan 
of  hers  in  the  street  a  while  ago,  and  a  fellow  on  the 
box  with  a  red  beard  on  him  like  Robinson  Crusoe  ? 
That  old  mare  that  was  on  the  near  side,  Trinket  her  name 
is — is  mighty  near  clean  bred.  I  can  tell  you  her  foals 
are  worth  a  bit  of  money." 

I  had  heard  of  old  Mrs.  Knox  of  Aussolas  ;  indeed,  I 
had  seldom  dined  out  in  the  neighbourhood  without 
hearing  some  new  story  of  her  and  her  remarkable 


TRINKET'S  COLT.  261 

menage,  but  it  had  not  yet  been  my  privilege  to  meet 
her. 

"  Well,  now,"  went  on  Flurry,  in  his  low  voice,  "  I'll 
tell  you  a  thing  that's  just  come  into  my  head.  My 
grandmother  promised  me  a  foal  of  Trinket's  the  day 
I  was  one-and-twenty,  and  that's  five  years  ago,  and  deuce 
a  one  I've  got  from  her  yet.  You  never  were  at 
Aussolas  ?  No,  you  were  not.  Well,  I  tell  you  the 
place  there  is  like  a  circus  with  horses.  She  has  a  couple 
of  score  of  them  running  wild  in  the  woods,  like  deer." 

"  Oh,  come,"  I  said,  "  I'm  a  bit  of  a  liar  myself — 

"  Well,  she  has  a  dozen  of  them,  anyhow,  rattling 
good  colts,  too,  some  of  them,  but  they  might  as  well 
be  donkeys  for  all  the  good  they  are  to  me  or  any  one. 
It's  not  once  in  three  years  she  sells  one,  and  there 
she  has  them  walking  after  her  for  bits  of  sugar,  like  a 
lot  of  dirty  lapdogs,"  ended  Flurry  with  disgust. 

"  Well,  what's  your  plan  ?  Do  you  want  me  to  make 
her  a  bid  for  one  of  the  lapdogs  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking,"  replied  Flurry,  with  great  delibe- 
ration, "  that  my  birthday's  this  week,  and  maybe  I 
could  work  a  four-year-old  colt  of  Trinket's  she  has 
out  of  her  in  honour  of  the  occasion." 

"  And  sell  your  grandmother's  birthday  present 
to  me  ?  " 

"  Just  that,  I  suppose,"  answered  Flurry,  with  a 
slow  wink. 

A  few  days  afterwards  a  letter  from  Mr.  Knox 
informed  me  that  he  had  "  squared  the  old  lady,  and  it 
would  be  all  right  about  the  colt !  "  He  further  told 
me  that  Mrs.  Knox  had  been  good  enough  to  offer  me, 
with  him,  a  day's  snipe  shooting  on  the  celebrated 
Aussolas  bogs,  and  he  proposed  to  drive  me  there  the 


262  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

following  Monday,  if  convenient,  to  shoot  the  Aussolas 
snipe  bog  when  they  got  the  chance.  Eight  o'clock 
on  the  following  Monday  morning  saw  Flurry,  myself, 
and  a  groom  packed  into  a  dog-cart,  with  portmanteaus, 
gun-cases,  and  two  rampant  red  setters. 

It  was  a  long  drive,  twelve  miles  at  least,  and  a  very 
cold  one.  We  passed  through  long  tracts  of  pasture 
country,  filled  for  Flurry,  with  memories  of  runs,  which 
were  recorded  for  me,  fence  by  fence,  in  every  one  of 
which  the  biggest  dog-fox  in  the  country  had  gone  to 
ground,  with  not  two  feet — measured  accurately  on  the 
handle  of  the  whip — between  him  and  the  leading  hound  ; 
through  bogs  that  imperceptibly  melted  into  lakes, 
and  finally  down  and  down  into  a  valley,  where  the 
fir-trees  of  Aussolas  clustered  darkly  round  a  glittering 
lake,  and  all  but  hid  the  grey  roofs  and  pointed  gables 
of  Aussolas  Castle. 

"  There's  a  nice  stretch  of  a  demesne  for  you," 
remarked  Flurry,  pointing  downwards  with  the  whip, 
"  and  one  little  old  woman  holding  it  all  in  the  heel  of 
her  fist.  Well  able  to  hold  it  she  is,  too,  and  always 
was,  and  she'll  live  twenty  years  yet,  if  it's  only  to 
spite  the  whole  lot  of  us,  and  when  all's  said  and  done, 
goodness  knows  how  she'll  leave  it !  " 

"  It  strikes  me  you  were  lucky  to  keep  her  up  to  her 
promise  about  the  colt,"  said  I. 

Flurry  administered  a  composing  kick  to  the  ceaseless 
strivings  of  the  red  setters  under  the  seat. 

"  I  used  to  be  rather  a  pet  with  her,"  he  said,  after 
a  pause ;  "  but  mind  you,  I  haven't  got  him  yet,  and 
if  she  gets  any  notion  I  want  to  sell  him  I'll  never  get 
him,  so  say  nothing  about  the  business  to  her." 

The  tall  gates  of  Aussolas  shrieked  on  their  hinges 


TRINKET'S  COLT.  263 

as  they  admitted  us,  and  shut  with  a  clang  behind  us, 
in  the  faces  of  an  old  mare  and  a  couple  of  young  horse*, 
who,  foiled  in  their  break  for  the  excitements  of  the  outer 
world,  turned  and  galloped  defiantly  on  either  side  of 
us.  Flurry's  admirable  cob  hammered  on,  regardless 
of  all  things  save  his  duty. 

"  He's  the  only  one  I  have  that  I'd  trust  myself 
here  with,"  said  his  master,  flicking  him  approvingly 
with  the  whip  ;  "there  are  plenty  of  people  afraid  to  come 
here  at  all,  and  when  my  grandmother  goes  out  driving, 
she  has  a  boy  on  the  box  with  a  basket  full  of  stones  to 
peg  at  them.  Talk  of  the  dickens,  here  she  is  herself  !  " 

A  short,  upright  old  woman  was  approaching,  preceded 
by  a  white  woolly  dog  with  sore  eyes  and  a  bark  like 
a  tin  trumpet  ;  we  both  got  out  of  the  trap  and  advanced 
to  meet  the  Lady  of  the  Manor. 

I  may  summarise  her  attire  by  saying  that  she  looked 
as  if  she  had  robbed  a  scarecrow  ;  her  face  was  small 
and  incongruously  refined,  the  skinny  hand  that  she 
extended  to  me  had  the  grubby  tan  that  bespoke  the 
professional  gardener,  and  was  decorated  with  a  magni- 
ficent diamond  ring.  On  her  head  was  a  massive 
purple  velvet  bonnet. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you,  Major  Yeates,"  she 
said,  with  an  old-fashioned  precision  of  utterance  ; 
"  your  grandfather  was  a  dancing  partner  of  mine  in 
old  days  at  the  Castle,  when  he  was  a  handsome  young 
aide-de-camp  there,  and  I  was — you  may  judge  for 
yourself  what  I  was." 

She  ended  with  a  startling  little  hoot  of  laughter, 
and  I  was  aware  that  she  quite  realised  the  world's 
opinion  of  her,  and  was  indifferent  to  it. 

Our  way  to  the  bogs  took  us  across  Mrs.   Knox's 


264  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE 

home  farm,  and  through  a  large  field  in  which  several 
young  horses  were  grazing. 

"  There,  now,  that's  my  fellow,"  said  Flurry,  pointing 
to  a  fine-looking  colt,  "  the  chestnut  with  the  white 
diamond  on  his  forehead.  He'll  run  into  three  figures 
before  he's  done,  but  we'll  not  tell  that  to  the  ould  lady  !  " 

The  famous  Aussolas  bogs  were  as  full  of  snipe  as 
usual,  and  a  good  deal  fuller  of  water  than  any  bogs  I 
had  ever  shot  before.  I  was  on  my  day,  and  Flurry  was 
not,  and  as  he  is  ordinarily  an  infinitely  better  snipe 
shot  than  I,  I  felt  at  peace  with  the  world  and  all  men 
as  we  walked  back,  wet  through,  at  five  o'clock. 

The  sunset  had  waned  and  a  big  white  moon  was 
making  the  eastern  tower  of  Aussolas  look  like  a  thing 
in  a  fairy  tale  or  a  play  when  we  arrived  at  the  hall  door. 
An  individual,  whom  I  recognised  as  the  Robinson 
Crusoe  coachman,  admitted  us  to  a  hall,  the  like  of 
which  one  does  not  often  see.  The  walls  were 
panelled  with  dark  oak  up  to  the  gallery  that  ran  round 
three  sides  of  it,  the  balusters  of  the  wide  staircase  were 
heavily  carved,  and  blackened  portraits  of  Flurry's 
ancestors  on  the  spindle  side,  stared  sourly  down  on 
their  descendant  as  he  tramped  upstairs  with  the  bog 
mould  on  his  hobnailed  boots. 

We  had  just  changed  into  dry  clothes  when  Robinson 
Crusoe  shoved  his  red  beard  round  the  corner  of  the 
door,  with  the  information  that  the  mistress  said  we  were 
to  stay  for  dinner.  My  heart  sank.  It  was  then  barely 
half-past  five.  I  said  something  about  having  no 
evening  clothes,  and  having  to  get  home  early. 

"  Sure,  the  dinner'll  be  in  another  half-hour,"  said 
Robinson  Crusoe,  joining  hospitably  in  the  conversation  ; 
"  and  as  for  evening  clothes — God  bless  ye  !  " 


TRINKET'S  COLT.  265 

The  door  closed  behind  him. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Flurry,  "  I  dare  say  you'll  be 
glad  enough  to  eat  another  dinner  by  the  time  you 
get  home,"  he  laughed.  "  Poor  Slipper  !  "  he  added, 
inconsequently,  and  only  laughed  again  when  I  asked  for 
an  explanation. 

Old  Mrs.  Knox  received  us  in  the  library,  where  she 
was  seated  by  a  roaring  turf  fire,  which  lit  the  room  a 
good  deal  more  effectively  than  the  pair  of  candles 
that  stood  beside  her  in  tall  silver  candlesticks.  Ceaseless 
and  implacable  growls  from  under  her  chair  indicated 
the  presence  of  the  woolly  dog.  She  talked  with  con- 
founding culture  of  the  books  that  rose  all  round  her 
to  the  ceiling  ;  her  evening  dress  was  accomplished 
by  means  of  an  additional  white  shawl,  rather  dirtier 
than  its  congeners  ;  as  I  took  her  in  to  dinner  she  quoted 
Virgil  to  me,  and  in  the  same  breath  screeched  an 
objurgation  at  a  being  whose  matted  head  rose  suddenly 
into  view  from  behind  an  ancient  Chinese  screen,  as 
I  have  seen  the  head  of  a  Zulu  woman  peer  over  a  bush. 

Dinner  was  as  incongruous  as  everything  else. 
Detestable  soup  in  a  splendid  old  silver  tureen  that  was 
nearly  as  dark  in  hue  as  Robinson  Crusoe's  thumb  ; 
a  perfect  salmon,  perfectly  cooked,  on  a  chipped  kitchen 
dish  ;  such  cut  glass  as  is  not  easy  to  find  nowadays  ; 
sherry  that,  as  Flurry  subsequently  remarked,  would 
burn  the  shell  off  an  egg  ;  and  a  bottle  of  port,  draped 
in  immemorial  cobwebs,  wan  with  age,  and  probably 
priceless.  Throughout  the  vicissitudes  of  the  meal 
Mrs.  Knox's  conversation  flowed  on  undismayed, 
directed  sometimes  at  me — she  had  installed  me  in  the 
position  of  friend  of  her  youth,  and  talked  to  me  as  if 
I  were  my  own  grandfather — sometimes  at  Crusoe, 


266  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

with  whom  she  had  several  heated  arguments,  and  some- 
times she  would  make  a  statement  of  remarkable  frank- 
ness on  the  subject  of  her  horse-farming  affairs  to  Flurry, 
who,  very  much  on  his  best  behaviour,  agreed  with 
all  she  said,  and  risked  no  original  remark.  As  I  listened 
to  them  both,  I  remembered  with  infinite  amusement 
how  he  had  told  me  once  that  "a  pet  name  she  had 
for  him  was  '  Tony  Lumpkin,'  and  no  one  but  herself 
knew  what  she  meant  by  it."  It  seemed  strange  that 
she  made  no  allusion  to  Trinket's  colt  or  to  Flurry's 
birthday,  but,  mindful  of  my  instructions,  I  held  my 
peace. 

As,  at  about  half-past  eight,  we  drove  away  in  the  moon- 
light, Flurry  congratulated  me  solemnly  on  my  success 
with  his  grandmother.  He  was  good  enough  to  tell  me 
that  she  would  marry  me  to-morrow  if  I  asked  her,  and 
he  wished  I  would,  even  if  it  was  only  to  see  what  a  nice 
grandson  he'd  be  for  me.  A  sympathetic  giggle  behind 
me  told  me  that  Michael,  on  the  back  seat,  had  heard 
and  relished  the  jest. 

We  had  left  the  gates  of  Aussolas  about  half-a-mile 
behind,  when,  at  the  corner  of  a  by-road,  Flurry  pulled 
up.  A  short,  squat  figure  arose  from  the  black  shadow 
of  a  furze  bush  and  came  out  into  the  moonlight, 
swinging  its  arms  like  a  cabman,  and  cursing  audibly. 

"  Oh,  murdher,  oh,  murdher,  Misther  Flurry ! 
What  kept  ye  at  all  ?  'Twould  perish  the  crows  to 
be  waiting  here  the  way  I  am  these  two  hours — " 

"  Ah,  shut  your  mouth,  Slipper  !  "  said  Flurry,who, 
to  my  surprise,  had  turned  back  the  rug  and  was  taking 
off  his  driving  coat,  "  I  couldn't  help  it.  Come  on, 
Yeates,  we've  got  to  get  out  here." 

"  What  for  ?  "  1  asked,  in  not  unnatural  bewilderment. 


TRINKET'S  COLT.  267 

"  It's  all  right  I'll  tell  you  as  we  go  along,"  replied 
my  companion,  who  was  already  turning  to  follow 
Slipper  up  the  by-road.  "  Take  the  trap  on,  Michael, 
and  wait  at  the  River's  Cross."  He  waited  for  me  to 
come  up  with  him,  and  then  put  his  hand  on  my  arm. 
"  You  see,  Major,  this  is  the  way  it  is.  My  grandmother's 
given  me  that  colt  right  enough,  but  if  I  waited  for  her 
to  send  him  over  to  me  I'd  never  see  a  hair  of  his  tail. 
So  I  just  thought  that  as  we  were  over  here  we  might  as 
well  take  him  back  with  us,  and  maybe  you'll  give  us 
a  help  with  him  ;  he'll  not  be  altogether  too  handy 
for  a  first  go  off." 

I  was  staggered.  An  infant  in  arms  could  scarcely 
have  failed  to  discern  the  fishiness  of  the  transaction, 
and  I  begged  Mr.  Knox  not  to  put  himself  to  this  trouble 
on  my  account,  as  I  had  no  doubt  I  could  find  a  horse 
for  my  friend  elsewhere.  Mr.  Knox  assured  me  that 
it  was  no  trouble  at  all,  quite  the  contrary,  and  that, 
since  his  grandmother  had  given  him  the  colt,  he  saw 
no  reason  why  he  should  not  take  him  when  he  wanted 
him  ;  also,  that  if  I  didn't  want  him  he'd  be  glad  enough 
to  keep  him  himself ;  and,  finally,  that  I  wasn't  the 
chap  to  go  back  on  a  friend,  but  I  was  welcome  to  drive 
back  to  Shreelane  with  Michael  this  minute,  if  I 
liked. 

Of  course,  I  yielded  in  the  end.  I  told  Flurry  I 
should  lose  my  job  over  the  business,  and  he  said  I 
could  then  marry  his  grandmother,  and  the  discussion 
was  abruptly  closed  by  the  necessity  of  following  Slipper 
over  a  locked  five-barred  gate. 

Our  pioneer  took  us  over  about  half-a-mile  of  country, 
knocking  down  stone  gaps  where  practicable,  and 
scrambling  over  tall  banks  in  the  deceptive  moonlight. 


268  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

We  found  ourselves  at  length  in  a  field  with  a  shed 
in  one  corner  of  it ;  in  a  dim  group  of  farm  buildings  ; 
a  little  way  off  a  light  was  shining. 

"  Wait  here,"  said  Flurry  to  me  in  a  whisper  ;  "  the 
less  noise  the  better.  It's  an  open  shed,  and  we'll  just 
slip  in  and  coax  him  out." 

Slipper  unwound  from  his  waist  a  halter,  and  my 
colleagues  glided  like  spectres  into  the  shadow  of  the 
shed,  leaving  me  to  meditate  on  my  duties  as  Resident 
Magistrate,  and  on  the  questions  that  would  be  asked 
in  the  House  by  our  local  member  when  Slipper  had 
given  away  the  adventure  in  his  cups. 

In  less  than  a  minute  three  shadows  emerged  from  the 
shed,  where  two  had  gone  in.  They  had  got  the  colt. 

"  He  came  out  as  quiet  as  a  calf  when  he  winded  the 
sugar,"  said  Flurry  ;  "  it  was  well  for  me  I  filled  my 
pockets  from  grandmamma's  sugar  basin." 

He  and  Slipper  had  a  rope  from  each  side  of  the  colt's 
head  ;  they  took  him  quickly  across  a  field  towards  a 
gate.  The  colt  stepped  daintily  between  them  over  the 
moonlit  grass  ;  he  snorted  occasionally,  but  appeared 
on  the  whole  amenable. 

The  trouble  began  later,  and  was  due,  as  trouble  often 
is,  to  the  beguilements  of  a  short  cut.  Against  the 
maturer  judgment  of  Slipper,  Flurry  insisted  on  following 
a  route  that  he  assured  us  he  knew  as  well  as  his  own 
pocket,  and  the  consequence  was,  that  in  about  five 
minutes  I  found  myself  standing  on  top  of  a  bank 
hanging  on  to  a  rope,  on  the  other  end  of  which  the  colt 
dangled  and  danced,  while  Flurry,  with  the  other  rope, 
lay  prone  in  the  ditch,  and  Slipper  administered  to  the 
bewildered  colt's  hindquarters  such  chastisement  as 
could  be  ventured  on. 


TRINKET'S  COLT.  269 

I  have  no  space  to  narrate  in  detail  the  atrocious 
difficulties  and  disasters  of  the  short  cut.  How  the  colt 
set  to  work  to  buck,  and  went  away  across  a  field, 
dragging  the  faithful  Slipper,  literally  ventre-d-terre, 
after  him,  while  I  picked  myself  in  ignominy  out  of  a 
briar  patch,  and  Flurry  cursed  himself  black  in  the  face. 
How  we  were  attacked  by  ferocious  cur  dogs  and  I  lost 
my  eyeglass  ;  and  how,  as  we  neared  the  river's  Cross, 
Flurry  espied  the  police  patrol  on  the  road,  and  we  all 
hid  behind  a  rick  of  turf,  while  I  realised  in  fulness 
what  an  exceptional  ass  I  was,  to  have  been  beguiled 
into  an  enterprise  that  involved  hiding  with  Slipper 
from  the  Royal  Irish  Constabulary. 

Let  it  suffice  to  say  that  Trinket's  infernal  offspring 
was  finally  handed  over  on  the  highroad  to  Michael 
and  Slipper,  and  Flurry  drove  me  home  in  a  state  of 
mental  and  physical  overthrow. 

I  saw  nothing  of  my  friend  Mr.  Knox  for  the  next 
couple  of  days,  by  the  end  of  which  time  I  had  worked 
up  a  high  polish  on  my  misgivings,  and  had  determined 
to  tell  him  that  under  no  circumstances  would  I  have 
anything  to  say  to  his  grandmother's  birthday  present. 
It  was  like  my  usual  luck  that,  instead  of  writing 
a  note  to  this  effect,  I  thought  it  would  be  good  for 
my  liver  to  walk  across  the  hills  to  Tory  Cottage  and  tell 
Flurry  so  in  person. 

It  was  a  bright,  blustery  morning,  after  a  muggy 
day.  The  feeling  of  spring  was  in  the  air,  the  daffodils 
were  already  in  bud,  and  crocuses  showed  purple  in 
the  grass  on  either  side  of  the  avenue.  It  was  only  a 
couple  of  miles  to  Tory  Cottage,  by  the  way  across 
the  hills  ;  I  walked  fast,  and  it  was  barely  twelve  o'clock 
when  I  saw  its  pink  walls  and  clumps  of  evergreens 


270  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

below  me.  As  I  looked  down  at  it,  the  chiming  of 
Flurry's  hounds  in  the  kennels  came  to  me  on  the  wind  ; 
I  stood  still  to  listen,  and  could  almost  have  sworn 
that  I  was  hearing  the  clash  of  Magdalen  bells,  hard 
at  work  on  May  morning. 

The  path  that  I  was  following  led  downwards  through 
a  larch  plantation  to  Flurry's  back  gate.  Hot  wafts 
from  some  hideous  cauldron  at  the  other  side  of  a  wall 
apprised  me  of  the  vicinity  of  the  kennels  and  their 
cuisine,  and  the  fir-trees  round  were  hung  with  gruesome 
and  unknown  joints.  I  thanked  heaven  that  I  was  not 
a  master  of  hounds,  and  passed  on  as  quickly  as  might 
be  to  the  hall  door. 

I  rang  two  or  three  times  without  response  ;  then  the 
door  opened  a  couple  of  inches,  and  was  instantly 
slammed  in  my  face.  I  heard  the  hurried  paddling  of 
bare  feet  on  oilcloth,  and  a  voice,  "  Hurry,  Bridgie, 
hurry  !  There's  quality  at  the  door  !  " 

Bridgie,  holding  a  dirty  cap  on  with  one  hand, 
presently  arrived  and  informed  me  that  she  believed 
that  Mr.  Knox  was  out  about  the  place.  She  seemed 
perturbed,  and  she  cast  scared  glances  down  the  drive 
while  speaking  to  me. 

I  knew  enough  of  Flurry's  habits  to  shape  a  tolerably 
direct  course  for  his  whereabouts.  He  was,  as  I  had 
expected,  in  the  training  paddock,  a  field  behind  the 
stable-yard,  in  which  he  had  put  up  practice  jumps  for 
his  horses.  It  was  a  good-sized  field  with  clumps  of 
furze  in  it,  and  Flurry  was  standing  near  one  of  these 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  singularly  unoccupied. 
I  supposed  that  he  was  prospecting  for  a  place  to  put 
up  another  jump.  He  did  not  see  me  coming,  and  turned 
with  a  start  as  I  spoke  to  him.  There  was  a  queer 


TRINKET'S  COLT.  271 

expression  of  mingled  guilt  and  what  I  can  only  describe 
as  divilment  in  his  grey  eyes  as  he  greeted  me.  In  my 
dealings  with  Flurry  Knox,  I  have  since  formed 
the  habit  of  sitting  tight,  in  a  general  way,  when  I  see 
that  expression. 

"  Well,  who's  coming  next,  I  wonder  !  "  he  said, 
as  he  shook  hands  with  me  ;  "  it's  not  ten  minutes 

since  I  had  two  of  your  d d  peelers  here  searching 

the  whole  place  for  my  grandmother's  colt !  " 

"  What !  "  I  exclaimed,  feeling  cold  all  down  my 
back  ;  "  do  you  mean  the  police  have  got  hold  of  it  ?  " 

"  They  haven't  got  hold  of  the  colt,  anyway,"  said 
Flurry,  looking  sideways  at  me  from  under  the  peak  of  his 
cap,  with  the  glint  of  the  sun  in  his  eye.  "  I  got  word 
in  time  before  they  came." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  I  demanded  ;  "  where  is 
he  ?  For  Heaven's  sake  don't  tell  me  you've  sent  the 
brute  over  to  my  place  !  " 

It's  a  good  job  for  you  I  didn't,"  replied  Flurry, 
"  as  the  police  are  on  their  way  to  Shreelane  this 
minute  to  consult  you  about  it.  You  !  "  He  gave 
utterance  to  one  of  his  short,  diabolical  fits  of  laughter. 
"  He's  where  they'll  not  find  him,  anyhow.  Ho ! 
ho  !  It's  the  funniest  hand  I  ever  played  !  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  it's  devilish  funny,  I've  no  doubt,"  I 
retorted,  beginning  to  lose  my  temper,  as  is  the  manner 
of  many  people  when  they  are  frightened  ;  "  but,  I 
give  you  fair  warning  that  if  Mrs.  Knox  asks  me  any 
questions  about  it,  I  shall  tell  her  the  whole  story." 

"  All  right,"  responded  Flurry  ;  "  and  when  you  do, 
don't  forget  to  tell  her  how  you  flogged  the  colt  out  on 
to  the  road  over  her  own  bound's  ditch  ' 


272  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  Very  well,"  I  said,  hotly,  "  I  may  as  well  go  home 
and  send  in  my  papers.  They'll  break  me  over 
this—" 

"  Ah,  hold  on,  Major,"  said  Flurry,  soothingly, 
"  it'll  be  all  right.  No  one  knows  anything.  It's  only 
on  spec'  the  old  lady  sent  the  Bobbies  here.  If  you'll 
keep  quiet  it'll  all  blow  over." 

"  I  don't  care,"  I  said,  struggling  hopelessly  in  the 
toils  ;  "  if  I  meet  your  grandmother,  and  she  asks  me 
about  it,  I  shall  tell  her  all  I  know." 

"  Please  God  you'll  not  meet  her  !  After  all,  it's  not 

once  in  a  blue  moon  that  she "  began  Flurry.  Even 

as  he  said  the  words  his  face  changed.  "  Holy  fly  !  " 
he  ejaculated,  "  isn't  that  her  dog  coming  into  the  field  ? 
Look  at  her  bonnet  over  the  wall !  Hide,  hide,  for  your 
life  !  "  He  caught  me  by  the  shoulder  and  shoved  me 
down  among  the  furze  bushes  before  I  realised  what 
had  happened. 

"  Get  in  there  !     I'll  talk  to  her." 

I  may  as  well  confess  that  at  the  mere  sight  of  Mrs. 
Knox's  purple  bonnet  my  heart  had  turned  to  water. 
In  that  moment  I  knew  what  it  would  be  like  to  tell  her 
how  I,  having  eaten  her  salmon,  and  capped  her  quota- 
tions, and  drunk  her  best  port,  had  gone  forth  and  helped 
to  steal  her  horse.  I  abandoned  my  dignity,  my  sense 
of  honour  ;  I  took  the  furze  prickles  to  my  breast  and 
wallowed  in  them. 

Mrs.  Knox  had  advanced  with  vengeful  speed ; 
already  she  was  in  high  altercation  with  Flurry  at  no 
great  distance  from  where  I  lay  ;  varying  sounds  of 
battle  reached  me,  and  I  gathered  that  Flurry  was  not — 
to  put  it  mildly — shrinking  from  that  economy  of  truth 
that  the  situation  required. 


TRINKET  S   COLT.  273 

"  Is  it  that  curby,  long-backed  brute  ?  You  promised 
him  to  me  long  ago,  but  I  wouldn't  be  bothered  with 
him  ;  ' 

The  old  lady  uttered  a  laugh  of  shrill  derision.  "  Is 
it  likely  I'd  promise  you  my  best  colt  ?  And  still  more, 
is  it  likely  that  you'd  refuse  him  if  I  did  ?  " 

"  Very  well,  ma'am,"  Flurry's  voice  was  admirably 
indignant.  "  Then  I  suppose  I'm  a  liar  and  a  thief." 

"  I'd  be  more  obliged  to  you  for  the  information 
if  I  hadn't  known  it  before,"  responded  his  grandmother 
with  lightning  speed  ;  "if  you  swore  to  me  on  a  stack 
of  Bibles  you  knew  nothing  about  my  colt  I  wouldn't 
believe  you  !  I  shall  go  straight  to  Major  Yeates  and 
ask  his  advice.  I  believe  him  to  be  a  gentleman,  in 
spite  of  the  company  he  keeps  !  " 

I  writhed  deeper  into  the  furze  bushes,  and  thereby 
discovered  a  sandy  rabbit  run,  along  which  I  crawled, 
with  my  cap  well  over  my  eyes,  and  the  furze  needles 
stabbing  me  through  my  stockings.  The  ground  shelved 
a  little,  promising  profounder  concealment,  but  the 
bushes  were  very  thick,  and  I  had  hold  of  the  bare  stem 
of  one  to  help  my  progress.  It  lifted  out  of  the  ground 
in  my  hand,  revealing  a  freshly-cut  stump.  Something 
snorted,  not  a  yard  away  ;  I  glared  through  the  opening, 
and  was  confronted  by  the  long,  horrified  face  of  Mrs. 
Knox's  colt,  mysteriously  on  a  level  with  my  own. 

Even  without  the  white  diamond  on  his  forehead 
I  should  have  divined  the  truth  ;  but  how  in  the  name 
of  wonder  had  Flurry  persuaded  him  to  couch  like  a 
woodcock  in  the  heart  of  a  furze  brake  ?  For  a  minute 
I  lay  as  still  as  death  for  fear  of  frightening  him,  while 
the  voices  of  F!urry  and  his  grandmother  raged  on 
alarmingly  close  to  me.  The  colt  snorted,  and  blew 


274  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

long  breaths  through  his  wide  nostrils,  but  he  did  not 
move.  I  crawled  an  inch  or  two  nearer,  and  after  a 
few  seconds  of  cautious  peering  I  grasped  the  position 
They  had  buried  him  ! 

A  small  sandpit  among  the  furze  had  been  utilised  as 
a  grave  ;  they  had  filled  him  in  up  to  his  withers  with 
sand,  and  a  few  furze  bushes,  artistically  disposed 
round  the  pit  had  done  the  rest.  As  the  depth  of 
Flurry's  guile  was  revealed,  laughter  came  upon  me  like 
a  flood  ;  I  gurgled  and  shook  apoplectically,  and  the 
colt  gazed  at  me  with  serious  surprise,  until  a  sudden 
outburst  of  barking  close  to  my  elbow  administered  a 
fresh  shock  to  my  tottering  nerves. 

Mrs.  Knox's  woolly  dog  had  tracked  me  into  the 
furze,  and  was  now  baying  the  colt  and  me  with  mingled 
terror  and  indignation.  I  addressed  him  in  a  whisper, 
with  perfidious  endearments,  advancing  a  crafty  hand 
towards  him  the  while,  made  a  snatch  for  the  back  of 
his  neck,  missed  it  badly,  and  got  him  by  the  ragged 
fleece  of  his  hind-quarters  as  he  tried  to  flee.  If  I  had 
flayed  him  alive  he  could  hardly  have  uttered  a  more 
deafening  series  of  yells,  but,  like  a  fool,  instead  of 
letting  him  go,  I  dragged  him  towards  me,  and  tried 
to  stifle  the  noise  by  holding  his  muzzle.  The  tussle 
lasted  engrossingly  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then  the 
climax  of  the  nightmare  arrived. 

Mrs.  Knox's  voice,  close  behind  me,  said,  "  Let  go 
my  dog  this  instant,  sir  !  Who  are  you — 

Her  voice  faded  away,  and  I  knew  that  she  also  had 
seen  the  colt's  head. 

I  positively  felt  sorry  for  her.  At  her  age  there  was 
no  knowing  what  effect  the  shock  might  have  on  her. 
I  scrambled  to  my  feet  and  confronted  her. 


TRINKET'S  COLT.  275 

"  Major  Yeates  !  "  she  said.  There  was  a  deathly 
pause.  "  Will  you  kindly  tell  me,"  said  Mrs.  Knox, 
slowly,  "  am  I  in  Bedlam,  or  are  you  ?  And  what  is 
that  ?  " 

She  pointed  to  the  colt,  and  the  unfortunate  animal, 
recognising  the  voice  of  his  mistress,  uttered  a  hoarse 
and  lamentable  whinny.  Mrs.  Knox  felt  around  her 
for  support,  found  only  furze  prickles,  gazed  speech- 
lessly at  me,  and  then,  to  her  eternal  honour,  fell  into 
wild  cackles  of  laughter. 

So,  I  may  say,  did  Flurry  and  I.  I  embarked  on  my 
explanation  and  broke  down.  Flurry  followed  suit 
and  broke  down,  too.  Overwhelming  laughter  held  us 
all  three,  disintegrating  our  very  souls.  Mrs.  Knox 
pulled  herself  together  first. 

"  I  acquit  you,  Major  Yeates,  I  acquit  you,  though 
appearances  are  against  you.  It's  clear  enough  to  me 
you've  fallen  among  thieves."  She  stopped  and  glowered 
at  Flurry.  Her  purple  bonnet  was  over  one  eye.  "  I'll 
thank  you,  sir,"  she  said,  "  to  dig  out  that  horse  before 
I  leave  this  place.  And  when  you've  dug  him  out  you 
may  keep  him.  I'll  be  no  receiver  of  stolen  goods  !  " 

She  broke  off  and  shook  her  fist  at  him.  "  Upon  my 
conscience,  Tony,  I'd  give  a  guinea  to  have  thought 
of  it  myself  !  " 


376  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 


The   Wee  Tea  Table. 

From  "  Irish  Pastorals" 
BY  SHAN  BULLOCK  (1865—). 

SOMEWHERE  near  the  hill-hedge,  with  their  arms  bare, 
skirts  tucked  up,  and  faces  peering  from  the  depths  of 
big  sunbonnets,  Anne  Daly  and  Judy  Brady  were 
gathering  the  hay  into  long,  narrow  rows  ;  one  raking 
this  side  of  a  row,  the  other  that,  and  both  sweetening 
toil  with  laughter  and  talk.  Sometimes  Anne  leaned 
on  her  rake  and  chattered  for  a  while  ;  now  Judy  said 
a  word  or  two  and  ended  with  a  titter  ;  again,  both  bobbed 
heads  and  broke  into  merriment.  I  came  nearer  to 
them,  got  ready  my  rake,  and  began  on  a  fresh  row. 

The  talk  was  of  a  woman,  of  her  and  her  absurdities. 

"  I've  come  to  help  you  to  laugh,  Anne,"  said  I. 
"  What  friend  is  this  of  yours  and  Judy's  that  you're 
stripping  of  her  character  ?  " 

"  The  lassie,"  said  Anne,  "  we  were  talkin'  about 
is  a  marrit  woman — one  Hannah  Breen  be  name — an' 
she  lives  in  a  big  house  on  the  side  of  a  hill  over  there 
towards  the  mountain.  The  husband's  a  farmer — 
an  easy-goin',  bull-voiced,  good-hearted  lump  of  a  man, 
wi'  a  good  word  for  ould  Satan  himself,  an'  a  laugh 
always  ready  for  iverything.  But  the  wife,  Hannah, 
isn't  that  kind.  Aw,  'deed  she  isn't.  'Tisn't  much 
good-speakin'  or  laughin'  Hannah'll  be  doin'  ;  'tisn't 
herself'd  get  many  cars  to  follow  her  funeral  in  these 
parts.  Aw,  no  'Tisn't  milkin'  the  cows,  an'  makin' 


THE  WEE  TEA  TABLE.  277 

the  butter,  an'  washin'  John's  shirts,  an'  darnin'  his 
socks,  an'  mendin'  her  own  tatters,  an*  huntin'  the 
chickens  from  the  porridge-pot,  Hannah  was  made  for. 
Aw,  no.  It's  a  lady  Hannah  must  be,  a  real  live  lady. 
It's  step  out  o'  bed  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  mornin',  Hannah 
must  do,  an'  slither  down  to  her  tay  an'  have  it  all  in 
grandeur  in  the  parlour  ;  it's  sittin'  half  the  day  she  must 
be,  readin'  about  the  doin's  o'  the  quality,  an'  the  goin's 
on  o'  the  world,  an'  squintin'  at  fashion-pictures,  an' 
fillin'  her  mind  wi'  the  height  o'  nonsense  an'  foolery  ; 
it's  rise  from  the  table  in  a  tantrum  she  must  do  because 
John  smacks  his  lips,  an'  ates  his  cabbage  wi'  his  knife  ; 
it's  worry  the  poor  man  out  o'  his  mind  she'd  be  after 
because  he  lies  and  snores  on  the  kitchen  table,  an' 
smokes  up  to  bed,  an'  won't  shave  more'n  once  a  week, 
an'  says  he'd  rather  be  hanged  at  once  nor  be  choked 
up  in  a  white  shirt  an'  collar  o'  Sundays.  An'  for 
herself — aw,  now,  it'd  take  me  from  this  till  sunset 
to  tell  ye  about  all  her  fooleries.  If  you'd  only  see  her, 
Mr.  John,  stalkin'  in  through  the  chapel  gates,  wi'  her 
skirts  tucked  up  high  enough  to  show  the  frillin'  on  her 
white  petticoat,  an*  low  enough  to  hide  the  big  tear 
in  it ;  an'  black  kid  gloves  on  her  fists  ;  an'  a  bonnet 
on  her  wi'out  a  string  to  it ;  an'  light  shoes  on  her  ; 
an'  a  big  hole  in  the  heel  o'  her  stockin'  ;  and  her  nose 
in  the  air  ;  an'  her  sniffin'  at  us  all  just  as  if  we  were  the 
tenants  at  the  butter-show  an'  herself  My  Lady  come  to 
prance  before  us  all  an'  make  herself  agreeable  for  five 
minutes  or  so.  ...  Aw,  Lord,  Lord,"  laughed  Anne, 
"  if  ye  could  only  see  her,  Mr.  John." 

"  An'  to  see  her  steppin'  down  Bunn  Street,"  Anne 
went  on,  as  we  turned  at  the  hedge,  and  set  our  faces 
once  more  towards  the  river,  "as  if  the  town  belonged 


278  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

to  her — a  ribbon  flutterin'  here,  an'  a  buckle  shinin' 
there,  an'  a  feather  danglin'  another  place — steppin' 
along  wi'  her  butter-basket  on  her  arm,  an'  big  John 
draggin'  at  her  heels,  an'  that  look  on  her  face  you'd 
expect  to  see  on  the  face  o'  the  Queen  o'  France  walkin' 
on  a  gold  carpet,  in  goold  slippers,  to  a  goold  throne  ! 
An'  to  see  the  airs  of  her  when  someone 'd  spake  ;  an' 
to  see  the  murderin'  look  on  her  when  someone'd  hint 
at  a  drop  o'whiskey  for  the  good  of  her  health  ;  an' 
to  hear  the  beautiful  talk  of  her  to  the  butter-buyers — 
that  soft  an'  po-lite  ;  an'  to  see  her  sittin'  in  the  ould 
ramshackle  of  a  cart  goin'  home,  as  straight  in  the  back 
an'  as  stiff  as  a  ramrod,  an'  her  face  set  like  a  plaster 
image,  an'  her  niver  lettin'  her  eye  fall  on  John  sittin' 
beside  her,  an'  him  as  drunk  an'  merry  as  a  houseful 
o'  fiddlers  !  Aw,  sure,"  cried  Anne,  flinging  up  a  hand, 
"  aw,  sure,  it's  past  the  power  o'  mortial  tongue  to  tell 
about  her." 

"  Yours,  Anne,  makes  a  good  attempt  at  the  telling, 
for  all  that,"  said  I. 

"  Ach,  I'm  only  bleatherin',"  said  Anne.  "  If  ye 
only  knew  her — only  did." 

"  Well,  tell  me  all  about  her,"  said  I,  "  before  your 
tongue  gets  tired," 

"  Ah,  sure,  an'  I  will,"  replied  she  ;  "  sure,  an'  I'll 
try  me  hand  at  it."." 

"  One  day,  then,  sometime  last  summer,  Hannah — 
beggin*  her  ladyship's  pardon,"  said  Anne,  a  sudden 
note  of  scorn  rasping  in  her  voice,  "  but  I  meant  Mrs. 
Breen — decks  herself  out,  ties  on  her  bonnet,  pulls  on 
her  kid  gloves,  an'  steps  out  through  the  hall  door. 
Down  she  goes,  over  the  ruts  an'  the  stones,  along  the 
lane,  turns  down  the  main  road  ;  after  a  \\hile  comes 


THE  WEE  TEA  TABLE.  279 

to  the  house  o'  Mrs.  Flaherty — herself  that  told  me — 
crosses  the  street,  an'  knocks  po-lite  on  the  door. 

'  '  Aw,  is  Mrs.  Flaherty  at  home,  this  fine  day  ?  ' 
axes  Hannah  when  the  door  opens,  an'  wee  Nancy  put 
her  tattered  head  between  it  an'  the  post.  "  Is  Mrs. 
Flaherty  at  home  ? '  says  she. 

' '  She  is  so,'  answers  Nancy  ;  '  but  she'd  be  out  at 
the  well,'  says  the  wee  crature. 

'  '  I  see,'  says  Hannah,  '  I  see.  Then,  if  you  please, 
when  she  comes  back,'  says  she,  '  would  you  be  kindly 
handin'  her  that,  wi'  Mrs.  Breen's  compliments  ' — an' 
out  of  her  pocket  Hannah  pulls  a  letter,  gives  it  to  Nancy, 
says  good  evenin'  to  the  wee  mortial,  gathers  up  her 
skirt,  an'  steps  off  in  her  grandeur  through  the  hens 
an'  ducks  back  to  the  road.  Well,  on  she  goes  another 
piece,  an'  comes  to  the  house  of  Mary  Dolan  ;  an' 
there,  too,  faith,  she  does  the  genteel  an'  leaves  another 
letter  an'  turns  her  feet  for  the  house  of  Mrs.  Hogan  ; 
an'  at  Sally's  she  smiles,  an'  bobs  her  head,  an'  pulls 
another  letter  from  her  pocket,  an'  leaves  it  at  the  door  ; 
then  twists  on  her  heel,  turns  back  home  an'  begins 
dustin'  the  parlours,  an'  arrangin'  her  trumpery  an' 
readin'  bleather  from  the  fashion  papers. 

"  Very  well,  childer.  Home  Jane  comes  from  the 
well,  an'  there's  Nancy  wi'  the  letter  in  her  fist.  '  What 
the  divil's  this  ?  '  says  Jane,  an'  tears  it  open  ;  an'  there, 
lo  an'  behold  ye,  is  a  bit  of  a  card — Jane  swears  'twas  a 
piece  of  a  bandbox,  but  I'd  be  disbelievin'  her — an' 
on  it  an  invite  to  come  an'  have  tay  with  me  bould 
Hannah,  on  the  next  Wednesday  evenin'  at  five  o'clock 
p.m. — whativer  in  glory  p.m.  may  be  after  meanin'  ; 
when  Mary  Dolan  opens  hers,  there's  the  same  invite  ; 
an'  when  Sally  Hogan  opens  hers,  out  drops  the  same 


280  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

bit  of  a  card  on  the  floor  ;  an'  Sally  laughs,  an'  Mary 
laughs,  an'  Jane  laughs,  an'  the  three  o'  them,  what  wi' 
the  quareness  o'  the  business,  an'  the  curiosity  of  them 
to  see  Hannah  at  her  capers,  put  their  heads  together, 
an'  laughs  again,  an'  settles  it  that  sorrow  take  them, 
but  go  they'll  go.  An'  go  they  did.  Aw,  yis  .  .  .  . 
Aw,  Lord,  Lord,"  laughed  Anne,  turning  up  her  eyes. 
"  Lord,  Lord  !  " 

"  Aw,  childer,  dear,"  giggled  Judy,  with  a  heaving 
of  her  narrow  shoulders.  "  Aw,  go  they  did  !  " 

"  Good  girl,  Anne,"  said  I,  and  slapped  my  leg  "  my 
roarin'  girl !  Aw,  an'  go  they  did,  Judy — go  they  did." 

"  Well,  hearts  alive,"  Anne  went  on,  "  Wednesday 
evenin'  comes  at  last ;  an'  sharp  at  five  o'clock  up  me 
brave  Jane  Flaherty  steps  along  the  lane,  crosses  the  yard, 
an'  mindin'  her  manners,  knocks  twice  on  Hannah's 
back  door — then  turns,  an'  wi'  the  dog  yelpin'  at  her, 
an'  the  gander  hissin'  like  a  wet  stick  on  a  fire,  waits 
like  a  beggarwoman  on  the  step.  But  divil  a  one  comes 
to  the  door  ;  aw,  not  a  one.  An'  sorrow  a  soul  budged 
inside  ;  aw,  not  a  soul.  So  round  turns  Jane,  lifts  her 
fist  again,  hits  the  door  three  thundering  bangs,  an'  looks 
another  while  at  the  gander.  Not  a  budge  in  the  door, 
not  a  move  inside  ;  so  Jane,  not  to  be  done  out  of  her 
tay,  lifts  the  latch, — an',  sure  as  the  sun  was  shinin', 
but  the  bolt  was  shot  inside.  '  Well,  dang  me,'  says 
Jane,  an'  hits  the  door  a  kick,  '  but  this  is  a  fine  way  to 
treat  company,'  says  she,  an'  rattles  the  latch,  an' 
shakes  it.  At  last,  in  the  divil  of  a  temper,  spits  on 
the  step,  whips  up  her  skirts,  an'  cursin'  Hannah  high 
up  an'  low  down,  starts  for  home. 

"  She  got  as  far  as  the  bend  in  the  lane,  an'  there  meets 
Mary  Dolan. 


THE   WEE  TEA  TABLE.  281 

'  What's  up  ? '  axes  Mary.  '  What's  floostered 
ye,  Jane  Flaherty  ?  Aren't  ye  goin'  to  have  your  tay,  me 
dear  ?  '  says  Mary. 

Aw,   may  the  first  sup  she  swallows   choke  the 

breath  in  her,'  shouts  Jane,  an'  goes  on  to  tell  her  story  ; 

an'  before  she'd  said  ten  words,  up  comes  Sally  Hogan. 

Am  I  too  late  ? '  says  Sally,  '  or  am  I  too  early  ?  ' 

says  she,  '  or  what  in  glory  ails  the  two  o'  ye  ?  ' 

Ails  ? '  shouts  Jane.  '  Ye  may  well  say  that, 
Sally  Hogan.  Ye  may  turn  on  your  heel,'  says  she, 
an'  begins  her  story  again  ;  an'  before  she  was  half 
through  it  Sally  laughs  out,  and  takes  Jane  by  the  arm, 
an'  starts  back  to  the  house  . 

Come  away,"  says  she  ;  '  come  away  an'  have  your 
tay,  Jane  ;  sure,  ye  don't  know  Hannah  yet.' 

"  So  back  the  three  goes — but  not  through  the  yard. 
Aw,  no.  'Twas  through  the  wee  green  gate,  an'  down  the 
walk,  an'  slap  up  to  the  hall  door  Sally  takes  them  ; 
an'  sure  enough  the  first  dab  on  the  knocker  brings  a 
fut  on  the  flags  inside,  an'  there's  Kitty,  the  servant 
girl,  in  her  boots  an'  her  stockin's,  an'  her  Sunday  dress 
an'  a  white  apron  on  her,  standin'  before  them. 

"  '  Aw,  an'  is  that  you,  Kitty  Malone,"  says  Sally. 
'  An'  how's  yourself,  Kitty,  me  dear  ?  An'  wid  Mrs. 
Breen  be  inside  ?  '  says  she. 

"  '  She  is  so,  Mrs.  Hogan,'  answers  Kitty,  an'  bobs 
a  kind  of  curtsy.  '  Wid  ye  all  be  steppin'  in,  please  ? ' 

"  '  Aw,  the  Lord's  sake,'  gasps  Sally  on  the  door 
step,  at  all  this  grandeur  ;  '  the  Lord's  sake,'  says  she, 
an'  steps  into  the  hall  ;  an'  in  steps  Mary  Dolan,  an'  in 
steps  Jane  Flaherty,  an'  away  the  three  o'  them  goes 
at  Kitty's  heels  up  to  the  parlour.  .  .  .  'Aw,  heavenly 
hour,'  cried  Anne,  and  turned  up  her  eyes. 


282  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  Well,  dears,"  Anne  went  on,  "  in  the  three  walks, 
bonnets  an'  all,  an'  sits  them  down  along  the  wall  on 
three  chairs,  an'  watches  Kitty  close  the  door  ;  then 
looks  at  each  other  in  a  puzzled  kind  o'  way,  an',  after 
that,  without  openin'  a  lip,  casts  their  eyes  about  the  room. 
'Twas  the  funniest  kind  of  a  place,  Jane  allowed,  that  iver 
she  dropped  eyes  on.  There  was  a  sheep-skin,  lyin' 
woolly  side  up,  in  front  o'  the  fireplace,  an'  a  calf-skin 
near  the  windy,  an'  a  dog's  skin  over  be  the  table,  an' 
the  floor  was  painted  brown  about  three  fut  all  round 
the  walls.  There  was  pieces  of  windy-curtain  over  the 
backs  o'  the  chairs  ;  there  was  a  big  fern  growin'  in  an 
ould  drain-pipe  in  the  corner  ;  there  was  an  ould  straw 
hat  o'  John's  stuffed  full  o'  flowers  an'  it  hangin'  on  the 
wall,  an'  here  an'  there,  all  round  it  an'  beside  it  were 
picters  cut  from  the  papers  an'  then  tacked  on  the  plaster. 
Ye  could  hardly  see  the  mantelshelf,  Jane  allowed, 
for  all  the  trumpery  was  piled  on  it,  dinglum-danglums 
of  glass  an'  chancy,  an'  shells  from  the  say,  an'  a  sampler 
stuck  in  a  frame,  an'  in  the  middle  of  all  a  picter  of 
Hannah  herself  got  up  in  all  her  finery.  An'  there 
was  books,  an'  papers,  an'  fal-lals,  an'  the  sorrow  knows 
what,  lyin'  about ;  an'  standin'  against  the  wall,  facin' 
the  windy,  was  a  wee  table,  wi'  a  cloth  on  it  about  the 
size  of  an  apron,  an'  it  wi'  a  fringe  on  it,  no  less,  an'  it 
spread  skew- wise  an'  lookin'  for  all  the  world  like  a 
white  ace  o'  diamonds  ;  an'  on  the  cloth  was  a  tray 
wi'  cups  an'  saucers,  an'  sugar  an'  milk,  an'  as  much 
bread  an'  butter,  cut  as  thin  as  glass,  as  you'd  give  a 

sick  child  for  its  supper '  Aw,  heavenly  hour,' 

cried  Anne, '  heavenly  hour  ! ' 

"  Aw,  childer,  dear,"  cried  Judy. 

"  Aw,  woman  alive,"  said  I.     "  Aw,  Judy,  dear." 


THE   WEE  TEA   TABLE.  283 

"  Well,  childer,  the  three  looks  at  all,  an'  looks  at  each 
other,  an'  shifts  on  their  chairs,  an'  looks  at  each  other 
again,  an'  says  Mary  Dolan  at  last : — 

'  We're   in  clover,   me  dears,'  says  she,    '  judgin' 
be  the  spread  beyont ' — and  she  nods  at  the  wee  table. 

Ah.  that'll  do  for  a  start,'  says  Sally  Hogan  ;  '  but, 
where  in  glory  are  we  all  to  put  our  legs  under  that  wee 
table  ?  Sure  it' 1  be  an  ojus  squeeze.' 

" '  It  will  so/  says  Jane  Flaherty,  '  it  will  so.  But 
isn't  it  powerful  quare  o'  Hannah  to  keep  us  sittin'  here 
so  long  in  our  bonnets  an'  shawls,  an'  us  dreepin' wi'  the 
heat  ? ' 

;  *  It's  the  quarest  hole  I  iver  was  put  in,'  says  Mary 
Dolan, '  an'  if  this  is  grandeur,  give  me  the  ould  kitchen  at 
home  wi'  me  feet  on  the  hearth  an'  me  tay  on  a  chair.  .  .  . 
Phew,'  says  Mary,  an'  squints  round  at  the  windy, 
'  phew,  but  it's  flamin'  hot !  Aw,'  says  she,  an*  makes 
a  dart  from  her  chair,  '  dang  me,  but  I'll  burst  if  I  don't 
get  a  mouthful  o'  fresh  air.'  An'  just  as  she  had  her 
hand  on  the  sash  to  lift  it,  the  door  opens  an'  in  steps 
me  da  lint  Hannah. 

'  '  Good  evenin',  ladies  all,' '  says  Hannah,  marchin' 
in  wi'  some  kind  of  a  calico  affair,  made  like  a  shroud 
wi'  frills  on  it,  hangin'  on  her,  '  Good  evenin',  ladies,' 
says  she,  an'  wi'  her  elbow  cocked  up  in  the  air  as  if 
she  was  strivin'  to  scrape  it  against  the  ceilin',  goes  from 
one  to  another  an'  shakes  hands.  '  It's  a  very  pleasant 
afternoon  '  (them  was  the  words),  says  she,  makin'  for 
a  chair  beside  the  wee  table  ;  '  an'  I'm  very  pleased  to 
see  ye  all,'  says  she. 

"  '  Aw,  an'  the  same  here,'  says  Mary  Dolan,  in  her 
free  way,  '  the  same  here  ;  an'  ojus  nice  ye  look  in  that 
sack  of  a  calico  dress,  so  ye  do,'  says  Mary,  wi'  a  wink 


284  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

at  Jane  Flaherty.  '  But  it's  meself'd  feel  obliged  to  ye 
if  so  be  ye'd  open  the  windy  an'  give  us  a  mouthful 
o'  fre  h  air,'  says  Mary. 

"  An'  Hannah  sits  down  in  her  shroud  wi'  the  frills 
on  it,  an'  smiles,  an'  says  she,  '  I'm  rather  delicate  ' 
(them  were  the  words)  *  this  afternoon,  Mrs.  Dolan, 
an'  afeered  o'  catchin*  cold  ;  an',  forby  that,'  says  she, 
'  the  dust  is  so  injurious  for  the  parlour.' 

"  '  Aw,  just  so,'  answers  Mary,  '  just  so.  Sure, 
I  wouldn't  for  worlds  have  ye  spoil  your  parlour  for  the 
likes  of  us.  But  I'll  ax  your  leave,  Mrs.  Breen,  seem' 
ye  don't  ax  me  yourself,  to  give  me  own  health  a 
chance,'  says  she,  '  be  thro  win'  this  big  shawl  off  me 
shoulders.' 

"  '  But  it's  afternoon  tay,  Mrs.  Dolan,'  answers 
Hannah,  in  her  cool  way;  '  an'  it's  not  fashionable  at 
afternoon  tay  for  ladies  to  remove — 

"  '  Then  afternoon  tay.  be  danged,'  says  Mary,  an' 
throws  the  shawl  off  her  across  the  back  of  her  chair  ; 
'  an'  it's  meself'll  not  swelter  for  all  the  fashions  in  the 
world,'  says  she,  an'  pushes  her  bonnet  back  an'  lets  it 
hang  be  the  strings  down  her  back.  '  Aw,  that's  great,' 
says  she,  wi'  a  big  sigh  ;  an'  at  that  off  goes  Jane's 
shawl  an'  bonnet,  an'  off  goes  Sally's  ;  an'  there  the 
three  o'  them  sits,  wi'  Hannah  lookin'  at  them  disgusted 
as  an  ass  at  a  field  of  thistles  over  a  gate.  .  .  Aw, 
glory  be,"  cried  Anne. 

"  Aw,  me  bould  Anne,"  cried  Judy  ;  "  me  brave 
girl." 

"  Well,  dears,  Hannah  sits  her  down,  puts  her  elbow 
on  a  corner  o'  the  ace  o'  diamonds,  rests  her  cheek  on  her 
hand,  an'  goes  on  talking  about  this  and  that.  She  hoped 
Mrs.  Flaherty,  an'  Mrs.  Dolan,  an'  Mrs.  Hogan  were  well 


THE   WEE  TEA  TABLE.  285 

an*  prosperous  ;  she  hoped  the  crops  were  turnin'  out  well ; 
she  hoped  all  the  childer  were  in  the  best  o'  good  health. 
Aw,  like  the  Queen  o'  Connaught  Hannah  talked,  an' 
smiled,  an'  aired  herself  an'  her  beautiful  English,  but 
sorrow  a  move  did  she  make  to  shift  her  elbow  off  the 
wee  table-cloth,  an'  divil  a  sign  or  smell  o'  tay  was  there 
to  be  seen.  Aw,  not  a  one.  Ten  minutes  went,  an* 
twenty,  an'  half  an  hour  ;  an'  at  that,  up  Mary  Dolan 
stretched  her  arms,  gives  a  powerful  big  yawn,  an',  says 
she,  '  Och,  dear  Lord,'  says  she,  '  dear  Lord,  but  the 
throat's  dry  in  me  !  Och,  och,'  says  she — an'  with 
the  hint  up  gets  Hannah  in  her  frilled  shroud,  crosses 
the  calf-skin,  opens  the  door,  an'  calls  for  Kitty.  '  Yis, 
Mrs.  Breen,'  answers  Kitty  from  the  Kitchen.  '  Serve 
tay,'  calls  Hannah  ;  then  closes  the  door  an'  steps  back 
to  her  chai  •  by  the  wee  table. 

"  In  about  ten  minutes,  here  comes  me  darlint  Kitty, 
boots  an'  stockin's  an'  all  ;  carries  the  taypot  on  a  plate 
over  to  the  table,  an'  plants  it  down  slap  in  the  middle 
o'  the  ace  o'  diamonds.  Up  jumps  Hannah  wi'  a  bounce. 

"  '  What  are  you  doin'  Kitty  ?  '  says  she,  with  a  snap 
of  her  jaw,  an'  lifts  the  taypot,  an'  glares  at  the  black 
ring  it  had  made  on  her  brand  new  cloth.  '  D'ye  see 
what  you've  done  ? '  says  she,  pointin'  her  ringer, 
'  stand  back  and  mend  your  manners,  ye  ignorant 
little  baggage,  ye  !  '- 

"  '  Yis,  ma'am,'  answers  Kitty,  an'  stands  back  ; 
then  turns  her  head,  when  she  gets  to  the  calf-skin,  an' 
winks  at  the  three  sittin'  by  the  wall  ;  an'  out  Mary 
Dolan  bursts  into  a  splutter  of  a  laugh, 

"  '  Aw,  Lord,'  says  Mary,  an'  holds  her  ribs  ;  '  aw, 
dear  Lord,'  says  she.  But  Hannah,  standin'  pourin' 
tay  into  the  wee  cups,  just  kept  her  face  as  straight  as 


286  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

if  Mary  was  a  dummy,  an'  in  a  minute  she  turns  round 
to  Kitty. 

"  '  Hand  the  cups  to  the  ladies,'  ssys  she,  an'  sits  her 
down. 

"  Well,  childer  dear,  Kitty  steps  from  the  calf-skin, 
lifts  two  cups  an'  saucers  from  the  tray,  carries  them 
across  the  floor,  an'  offers  one  to  Jane  Flaherty,  wi' 
this  hand,  an'  t'other  to  Sally  Hogan  wi'  that  hand. 
An'  Sally  looks  at  the  cup,  an'  then  at  Kitty  ;  an'  Jane 
looks  at  Kitty,  an'  then  at  the  cup,  an'  says  Sally  : 

"  '  Is  it  take  it  from  ye  you'd  have  me  do,  Kitty 
Malone  ? '  says  she. 

"  '  It  is  so,'  answers  Kitty  wi'  a  grin. 

"  '  An'  where  in  glory  wid  ye  have  me  put  it,  Kitty 
Malone  ?'  asks  Sally  an'  looks  here  an'  there.  '  Sure — 
sure,  there's  no  table  next  or  near  me,'  says  she. 

"  '  It's  afternoon  tay,  Mrs.  Hogan,'  says  Hannah 
across  the  floor  ;  '  an'  at  afternoon  tay,  tables  aren't 
fashionable,'  says  she,  an'  grins  to  herself. 

"  '  Well,  thank  God,  Hannah  Breen,'  says  Mary 
Dolan,  '  that  afternoon  tay,  as  ye  call  it,  has  only  come 
my  way  once  in  me  life.  Take  the  cup  in  your  fist, 
Sally  Hogan,'  says  Mary,  '  an'  if  ye  break  it,  bad  luck 
go  with  it,  an'  if  ye  don't,  you've  been  a  lady  for  once 
in  your  life  ;  an'  when  you're  done,  stick  it  there  on  the 
floor.  I'm  obliged  to  ye,  Kitty  Malone,'  says  Mary 
again,  an'  takes  a  cup  ;  '  an'  if  so  be  I  choke  meself 
wi'  the  full  o'  this  thimble  wi'  a  handle  on  it,'  ays  Mary, 
an*  squints  at  the  cup,  '  you'll  do  me  the  favour  to  tell 
Pat  I  died  a  fool.  An'  if  such  things  go  well  wi'  after- 
noon tay,  Kitty,  agra,  I'd  trouble  ye  for  a  look  at  a  spoon.' 
"...  Aw,  me  bould  Mary,"  cried  Anne  and  laughed 
in  her  glee.  "  Ye  were  the  girl  for  H  nnah,  so  ye  were." 


THE  WEE  TEA  TABLE.  287 

"  Aw,  'deed  ay,"  cried  Judy,  and  tittered  most 
boisterously.  "  Aw,  me  brave  Hannah." 

"  Then  begins  the  fun,  me  dears.  First  of  all,  Sally 
Hogan,  in  trying  to  lift  a  bit  o'  bread  an'  butter  from  a 
plate  that  Kitty  held  before  her,  must  spill  her  tay 
over  her  lap  an'  start  screechin'  that  she  was  kilt.  Then 
Mary  Dolan  must  finish  her  cup  at  a  gulp,  an'  forgettin' 
it  was  in  Hannah's  parlour  she  was  at  afternoon  tay, 
an'  not  at  home  in  the  kitchen,  must  give  the  dregs 
a  swirl  an'  sling  them  over  her  shoulder  against  the  wall. 
Then  Sally  Hogan  again,  in  tryin'  to  keep  back  a  laugh 
at  the  tay  leaves  on  the  wall,  an'  the  glare  of  Hannah 
across  at  them,  must  get  a  crumb  in  her  throat  an'  bring 
the  whole  room  to  thump  her  on  the  back. 

"  Then  Jane  Flaherty  gets  a  second  cup  wi'  no  sugar 
in  it,  an'  makes  a  face  like  a  monkey's,  an'  gives  a  big 
splutter,  an'  sets  Kitty  Malone  off  into  a  fit  o'  laughin'  ; 
an'  Kitty  sets  Jane  off,  an'  Jane  sets  Mary  off,  an'  Mary 
sets  Sally  off  ;  an'  there  sits  Hannah  in  her  calico  shroud, 
beside  the  ace  of  diamonds,  wi'  a  face  on  her  like  a 
child  cuttin'  its  teeth,  an'  her  arm  out,  an'  he-  ^houtin' 
for  Kitty  to  take  herself  out  o'  the  room.  An'  in  the 
middle  o'  the  whole  hubbub  the  door  opens,  an'  in  tramps 
big  John  in  his  dirty  boots,  wi'  his  shirt-sleeves  turned 
up,  an'  hay  ropes  round  his  legs,  an'  his  hat  on  the  back 
o'  his  head,  an'  his  pipe  in  his  mouth — in  steps  John, 
an'  stands  lookin'  at  them  all. 

1 '  Ho,  ho,'  roars  John,  an'  marches  across  the  calf- 
skin. "  What  have  we  here  ?  A  tay  party,'  says  he, 
'as  I'm  a  livin'  sinner — an'  me  not  to  know  a  thing 
about  it !  Well,  better  late  nor  niver,'  says  he,  then 
turns  an'  looks  at  Hannah.  '  Aw,  how  d'ye  do,  Mrs. 
Breen  ?  says  he,  wi'  a  laugh.  '  I  hope  I  see  ye  well 


288  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

in  your  regimentals.  An'  how  the  blazes  are  the  rest 
o'  ye,  me  girls  ? '  says  he  to  the  three  along  the  wall. 
'  I'm  glad  to  see  ye  all  so  hearty  an'  merry,  so  I  am. 
But  what  in  glory  are  ye  all  doin'  over  there,  away  from 
the  table  ?  Why  don't  ye  sit  an'  have  your  tay  like 
Christians  ?  '  says  he.  '  Come  over,  girls — come  over 
this  mortial  minute,'  says  John,' an' I'll  have  a  cup  wi' 
ye  meself,  so  I  will.' 

"  Then  Hannah  rises  in  her  calico   hroud. 

"  '  John,'  says  she,  '  it's  afternoon  tay  it'll  be,  an 
tables—' 

"  *  Aw,  sit  ye  down,  Hannah,'  shouts  John,  'sit  ye 
down,  woman,  an'  be  like  another  for  once  in  a  way.' 

"  '  John,'  says  Hannah,  again,  an'  looks  knives  an' 
forks  at  him,  '  where's  your  manners  the  day  ? ' 

"  '  Aw,  manners  be  danged,'  roars  John,  an'  throws 
his  hat  into  the  corner  ;  '  give  us  a  cup  o'  tay  an'  quit 
your  nonsense.  Come  on,  girls,'  says  he  to  the  women, 
'  come  over,  an'  have  a  cup  in  comfort  wi'  me  here  at 
the  table.' 

"  '  John  !  says  Hannah  again,  '  ye  can't  sit  at  this 
table  ;  it's — it's  too  small,'  says  she. 

"  '  Then  pull  it  out  from  the  wall,'  roars  John,  '  pull 
it  out  and  let  us  get  round  it.  Come  on,'  says  he,  an' 
grips  an  end  o'  the  table, '  give  it  a  lift  acros  the  floor  !' 

"  '  No,  no,  John,'  shou  s  Hannah,  an'  grip .  t'other 
end  to  keep  it  from  goin'  ;  '  ye  mustn't,  John  !  ' 

"  '  Out  wi'  it,'  roa  s  John  again. 

"  '  No,  no,'  shouts  Hannah,  '  ye  can't — aw,  ye  can't — 
aw,  ye  mustn'  — no,  no,  John  !  ' 

"  '  Aw,  to  glory  wi'  you  an'  it,'  shouts  John.  '  Here 
let  me  at  it  meself !  .  .  .' 

"  An'  the  next  minute  Hannah  was  screechin'  in  her 


THE  WEE  TEA  TABLE.  289 

shroud;  an'  there  was  a  clatter  o'  crockery,  like  as 
if  a  bull  had  gone  slap  at  a  dresser  ;  an'  John  was  standin' 
like  as  if  he  was  shot,  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  ;  an' 
lyin'  at  his  feet  was  the  wee  table,  an'  the  ace  of  diamonds, 
an'  the  whole  o'  Hannah's  cups  an'  saucers,  an'  the  tay- 
pot>  an'  all,  in  a  thousand  pieces.  .  .  .  Aw,  heart 
alive  .  .  .  heart  alive  !  .  .  .  ." 

Anne  leant  upon  her  rake  and  bowed  her  head  in 
laughter.  Two  minutes  grace  she  had  ;  then  said  I : 

"  What  had  happened,  Anne  ?  " 

She  looked  at  me.  "  Happened  ?  Sure,  the  table 
was  only  an  ould  dressin '-table,  an'  had  only  three 
legs,  an'  was  propped  wi'  the  lame  side  against  the  wall  ; 
an'  when  John  put  it  down  in  the  middle  of  the  floor — 
Aw,  now,"  cried  Anne,  "  that's  enough,  that's  enough.  . 
Aw,  me  sides — me  sides." 

"  Aw,  me  sides— me  sides,"  cried  Judy,  shaking 
below  her  big  sun-bonnet.  "  Te-he  !  " 

"  Aw,  women  alive,"  cried  I,  sinking  back  on  the  hay. 
"  Haw,  haw  1  " 


290  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 


The   Interpreters. 

From  "  The  Adventures  of  Dr.  Whitty" 
BY  GEORGE  A.  BIRMINGHAM. 

AT  the  end  of  January,  after  three  weeks  of  violently 
stormy  weather,  the  American  barque,  "  Kentucky," 
went  ashore  at  Carrigwee,  the  headland  which  guards 
the  northern  end  of  Ballintra.  She  struck  first  on  some 
rocks  a  mile  from  the  shore,  drifted  over  them  and 
among  them,  and  was  washed  up,  frightfully  shattered, 
on  the  mainland.  The  captain  and  the  crew  were 
saved,  and  made  their  way  into  the  town  of  Ballintra. 
They  were  dispatched  thence  to  Liverpool,  all  of  them, 
except  one  sailor,  a  forecastle  hand,  whose  right  leg 
had  been  broken  by  a  falling  spar.  This  man  was 
brought  into  Ballintra  in  a  cart  by  Michael  Geraghty, 
and  taken  to  the  workhouse  hospital.  He  arrived  in  a 
state  of  complete  collapse,  and  Dr.  Whitty  was  sent 
for  at  once. 

The  sailor  turned  out  to  be  a  man  of  great  strength 
and  vigour.  He  recovered  from  the  effects  of  the  long 
exposure  rapidly,  had  his  leg  set,  and  was  made  as 
comfortable  as  the  combined  efforts  of  the  whoh  work- 
house hospital  staff  could  make  him.  Then  it  was 
noticed  that  he  did  not  speak  a  word  to  anyone,  and 
was  apparently  unable  to  understand  a  word  that  was 
said  to  him.  The  master  of  the  workhouse,  after  a 
consultation  with  the  matron  and  the  nurse,  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  he  must  be  a  foreigner.  Dr.  Whitty 
was  sent  for  again  and  the  fact  reported  to  him. 


THE   INTERPRETERS.  29 1 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  the  master,  "  that  you  might 
be  able  to  speak  to  him,  doctor,  so  as  he'd  be  able  to 
understand  what  you  said." 

"  Well,  I  can't,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I'm  not  a  pro- 
fessional interpreter,  but  I  don't  see  that  it  much  matters 
whether  you're  able  to  talk  to  him  or  not.  Give  him 
his  food.  He'll  understand  the  meaning  of  a  cup  of 
tea  when  it's  offered  him,  whatever  language  he's 
accustomed  to  speak.  That's  all  you  need  care  about. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  he'll  be  just  as  well  off  without 
having  you  and  the  nurse  and  the  matron  sitting  on  the 
end  of  his  bed  and  gossiping  with  him  all  day  long." 

"  What's  troubling  me,"  said  the  master,  "  is  that 
I've  no  way  of  finding  out  what  religion  he  is." 

"  I  don't  see,"  said  the  doctor,  "  that  his  religion 
matters  in  the  least  to  us.  He's  not  going  to  die." 

"  I  know  that.  But  I  have  to  enter  his  religion  in 
the  book.  It's  the  rule  that  the  religion  of  every  inmate 
of  the  house  or  the  hospital  must  be  entered,  and  I'll 
get  into  trouble  after  if  I  don't  do  it." 

"  Well,"  said  the  doctor,  "  there's  no  use  asking  me 
about  it.  I  can't  talk  to  him  any  better  than  you  can, 
and  there  isn't  any  way  of  telling  by  the  feel  of  a  man's 
leg  whether  he's  a  Catholic  or  a  Protestant." 

"  That  may  be,"  said  the  master,  who  disliked  this 
sort  of  flippant  materialism,  "  but  if  I  was  to  enter  him 
down  as  a  Catholic,  and  it  turned  out  after  that  he  was  a 
Protestant,  there'd  be  a  row  I'd  never  hear  the  end  of ; 
and  if  I  was  to  have  him  down  as  a  Protestant,  and  him 
being  a  Catholic  all  the  time,  there'd  be  a  worse  row." 

Dr.  Whitty  was  a  good-natured  man,  and  was  always 
ready  to  help  anyone  who  was  in  a  difficulty.  He  felt 
for  the  master  of  the  workhouse.  He  also  had  a  natural 


2Q2  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

taste  for  solving  difficult  problems,  and  the  question  of 
the  sailor's  religion  attracted  him. 

"  Tell  me  this,  now,"  he  said.  "  Had  he  any  kind  of 
a  Prayer  Book  or  a  religious  emblem  of  any  sort  on  him 
when  you  were  taking  the  clothes  off  him  ?  " 

"  Not  one.  I  looked  myself,  and  the  nurse  went 
through  his  pockets  after.  Barring  a  lump  of  ship's 
tobacco  and  an  old  knife,  there  wasn't  a  thing  on  him." 

"  That's  not  much  use  to  us,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I 
never  heard  of  a  religion  yet  that  forbid  the  use  of 
tobacco  or  objected  to  people  carrying  penknifes.  If 
you'd  found  a  bottle  of  whiskey  on  him,  now,  it  might 
have  helped  us.  We'd  have  known  then  that  he  wasn't 
a  Mohammedan." 

"  What'll  I  do  at  all  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I'll 
go  round  the  town  and  I'll  collect  all  the  people  in  it 
that  can  speak  any  language  besides  English.  I'll  bring 
them  up  here  and  let  them  try  him  one  by  one.  It'll 
be  a  queer  thing  if  we  can't  find  somebody  that  will  be 
able  to  make  him  understand  a  simple  question." 

Dr.  Whitty  called  first  at  the  Imperial  Hotel,  and  had 
an  interview  with  Lizzie  Glynn. 

"  Lizzie,"  he  said,  "  you've  had  a  good  education  at 
one  of  the  most  expensive  convents  in  Ireland.  Isn't 
that  a  fact  ?  " 

"  It  is,"  she  said.  "  And  I  took  a  prize  one  time  for 
playing  the  piano." 

"  It's  not  piano-playing  that  I  expect  from  you  now," 
said  the  doctor,  "  but  languages.  You  speak  French, 
of  course  ?  " 

"  I  learned  it,"  said  Lizzie,  "  but  I  wouldn't  say  I 
could  talk  it  very  fast." 


THE   INTERPRETERS.  293 

"  Never  mind  how  slow  you  go,"  said  the  doctor, 
"  so  long  as  you  get  it  out  in  the  end.  Are  you  good  at 
German  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  learn  German." 

"  Italian  ?  " 

"  There  was  one  of  the  sisters  that  knew  Italian," 
said  Lizzie,  "  but  it  wasn't  taught  regular." 

"  Russian  ?     Spanish  ?     Dutch  ?  " 

Lizzie  shook  her  head. 

"  That's  a  pity.  Never  mind.  I'll  put  you  down 
for  French,  anyway.  I'll  take  you  up  with  me  to  the 
workhouse  hospital  at  six  o'clock  this  evening.  I  want 
you  to  speak  French  to  a  man  that's  there,  one  of  the 
sailors  out  of  the  ship  that  was  wrecked." 

"  I  mightn't  be  fit,"  said  Lizzie,  doubtfully. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  will.  Just  look  up  the  French  for 
religion  before  you  start,  and  get  off  the  names  of  the 
principal  kinds  of  religion  in  that  language.  All  you 
have  to  do  is  to  ask  the  man,  '  What  is  your  religion  ? ' 
and  then  understand  whatever  it  is  he  says  to  you 
by  the  way  of  an  answer." 

Dr.  Whitty  next  called  on  Mr.  Jackson  and  explained 
the  situation  to  him.  The  rector,  rather  unwillingly, 
offered  French,  and  seemed  relieved  when  he  was  told 
that  that  language  was  already  provided  for. 

"  I  thought,"  said  the  doctor,  "  that  you'd  be  sure  to 
know  Greek." 

"  I  do,"  said  the  Rector,  "  but  not  modern  Greek." 

"  Is  there  much  difference  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     I  fancy  there  is." 

"  Well,  look  here,  come  up  and  try  the  poor  fellow 
with  ancient  Greek.  I  expect  he'll  understand  it  if 


294  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

you  talk  slowly.  All  we  want  to  get  out  of  him  is 
whether  he's  a  Protestant  or  a  Catholic." 

"  If  he's  a  Greek  at  all,"  said  the  rector,  "  he'll  pro- 
bably not  be  either  the  one  or  the  other." 

"  He's  got  to  be  one  or  the  other  while  he's  here. 
He  can  choose  whichever  happens  to  be  the  nearest  thing 
to  his  own  religion,  whatever  that  is.  Does  Mrs.  Jackson 
know  Italian  or  Spanish  ?  " 

"No.  I  rather  think  she  learned  German  at  school, 
but  I  expect — 

"  Capital.     I'll  put  her  down  for  German." 

"  I'm  sure  she's  forgotten  it  now." 

"  Never  mind.  She  can  brush  it  up.  There's 
not  much  wanted  and  she  has  till  six  o'clock  this  evening. 
I  shall  count  on  you  both.  Good-bye." 

"  By  the  way,  doctor,"  said  Mr.  Jackson  on  the 
doorstep,  "  now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  don't  believe 
there's  a  word  in  ancient  Greek  for  Protestant." 

"  There  must  be.  It's  one  of  the  most  important 
and  useful  words  in  any  language.  How  could  the 
ancient  Greeks  possibly  have  got  on  without  it  ?  " 

"  There  isn't.     I'm  perfectly  sure  there  isn't." 

"  That's  awkward.  But  never  mind,  you'll  be  able 
to  get  round  it  with  some  kind  of  paraphrase.  After 
all,  we  can't  leave  the  poor  fellow  without  the  consola- 
tions of  religion  in  some  form.  Good-bye." 

"  And — and — Catholic  in  ancient  Greek  will  mean 
something  quite  different,  not  in  the  least  what  it  means 
now." 

The  doctor  was  gone.  Mr.  Jackson  went  back  to  his 
study  and  spent  two  hours  wrestling  with  the  contents 
of  a  lexicon.  He  arrived  at  the  workhouse  in  the  evening 


THE   INTERPRETERS.  295 

with   a  number  of  cryptic  notes,   the  words    lavishly 
accented,  written  down  on  small  slips  of  paper. 

Father  Henaghan  was  the  next  person  whom  Dr.  Whitty 
visited.  At  first  he  absolutely  declined  to  help. 

"  The  only  language  I  could  make  any  shift  at 
speaking,"  he  said  '*  is  Latin.  And  that  would  be  no  use 
to  you.  There  isn't  one  sailor  out  of  every  thousand, 
outside  of  the  officers  of  the  Royal  Navy,  that  would 
know  six  words  of  Latin." 

"  They  tell  me,"  said  the  doctor,  "  that  there's  no 
great  difference  between  Latin  and  Spanish  or  Italian. 
Anyone  that  knows  the  one  will  make  a  pretty  good 
push  at  understanding  the  others." 

"  Whoever  told  you  that  told  you  a  lie,"  said  the  priest  ; 
"  and,  anyway,  I'm  not  going  near  that  man  until  I'm 
sure  he's  a  Catholic." 

"  Don't  be  hard-hearted,  Father.  Think  of  the  poor 
fellow  lying  there  and  not  being  able  to  tell  any  of  us 
what  religion  he  belongs  to." 

"  I'll  tell  you  why  I  won't  go."  said  the  priest. 
"  There  was  one  time  when  I  was  a  curate  in  Dublin, 
I  used  to  be  attending  one  of  the  hospitals.  People 
would  be  brought  in  suffering  from  accidents  and 
dying,  and  you  wouldn't  know  what  they  were,  Catholic 
and  Protestant.  I  got  into  the  way  of  anointing  them 
all  while  they  were  unconcious,  feeling  it  could  do  them 
no  harm,  even  if  they  were  Protestants.  Well,  one 
day  I  anointed  a  poor  fellow  that  they  told  me  was 
dying.  What  did  he  do  but  recover.  It  turned  out 
then  that  he  was  a  Protestant,  and,  what's  more,  an 
Orangeman,  and  when  he  heard  what  was  done  he  gave 
me  all  sorts  of  abuse.  He  said  his  mother  wouldn't 
rest  easy  in  her  grave  when  she  heard  of  it,  and  more 
talk  of  the  same  kind." 


296  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH  LIFE. 

"  This  is  quite  a  different  sort  oi  case/'  said  the 
doctor.  "  This  man's  not  dying  or  the  least  likely  to 
die." 

"  I'll  not  go  near  him,"  said  the  priest. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  hear  you  say  that,  Father.  The  Rev. 
Mr.  Jackson  is  coming  up,  and  he's  prepared  to  ask  the 
man  what  religion  he  is  in  ancient  Greek — ancient  Greek, 
mind  you,  no  less.  It  wouldn't  be  a  nice  thing  to  have 
it  said  about  the  town  that  the  Protestant  minister 
could  talk  ancient  Greek  and  that  you  weren't  fit  to  say 
a  few  words  in  Latin.  Come,  now,  Father  Henaghan, 
for  the  credit  of  the  Church  say  you'll  do  it." 

This  last  argument  weighed  greatly  with  the  priest. 
Dr.  Whitty  saw  his  advantage  and  pressed  the  matter 
home. 

"  I'll  put  you  down,"  he  said,  "  for  Spanish  and 
Italian." 

"  You  may  put  me  down  if  you  like,  but  I  tell  you 
he  won't  know  a  word  I  speak  to  him." 

"  Try  him,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  I'll  not  be  making  a  public  fool  of  myself  to  please 
you,"  said  the  priest.  "  If  I  do  it  at  all  I'll  have  no  one 
with  me  in  the  room  at  the  time,  mind  that  now." 

"  Not  a  soul.  You  shall  have  him  all  to  yourself. 
To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  expect  everybody  will  feel  the 
same  as  you  do  about  that.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Jackson 
didn't  seem  very  keen  on  showing  off  his  ancient  Greek." 

Colonel  Beresford,  when  Dr.  Whitty  called  on  him, 
confessed  to  a  slight,  a  very  slight,  acquaintance  with  the 
Russian  language. 

"  I  took  it  up,"  he  said,  "  a  long  time  ago  when  I  was 
stationed  in  Edinburgh.  There  was  a  Russian  scare 
on  at  the  time  and  everybody  thought  there  was  going 


THE  INTERPRETERS  297 

to  be  a  war.  I  happened  to  hear  that  there  were  a  couple 
of  Russian  medical  students  in  the  University,  and  I 
thought  if  I  picked  up  a  little  of  the  language  I  might  fall 
in  for  a  staff  appointment.  I've  nearly  forgotten  it 
all  now,  and  I  didn't  make  any  special  study  of  religious 
terms  at  the  time,  but  I'll  do  the  best  I  can  for  you. 
You've  got  all  the  other  languages  you  say." 

"  I  think  so.  I  have  " — the  doctor  took  a  list  from  his 
pocket — "  French,  Miss  Lizzie  Glynn.  She  was 
educated  at  a  first-rate  convent,  and  speaks  French 
fluently.  Greek  (ancient  and  modern),  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Jackson.  German  and  allied  tongues,  Mrs.  Jackson. 
Italian,  Spanish  and  Portuguese,  Father  Henaghan. 
That,  with  your  Russian,  makes  a  tolerably  complete 
list." 

"  I'd  no  idea,"  said  the  colonel,  "  that  we  were  such 
a  polyglot  in  Ballintra.  By  the  way,  you  haven't  got 
Norwegian." 

"  No,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I  haven't  and  when  you 
come  to  think  of  it,  a  sailor  is  more  likely  to  be  that, 
or  a  Swede,  than  any  thing  else.  Can  you  speak  it  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word." 

"  Do  you  happen  to  have  a  dictionary,  Norwegian 
or  Swedish,  in  the  house  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  That's  a  pity.  I'd  have  tried  to  work  it  up  a  little 
myself  if  you  had." 

"All  I  have,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  is  a  volume  of 
Ibsen's  plays." 

"  Give  me  that,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  and  I'll  do  my 
best." 

"  It's  only  a  translation." 


298  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH  LIFE 

"  Never  mind.  I'll  pick  up  something  out  of  it  that 
may  be  useful.  I  have  two  hours  before  me.  Do  you 
mind  lending  it  to  me  r  " 

Dr.  Whitty  went  home  with  a  copy  of  a  translation 
of  "  Rosmersholm,"  "  Ghosts,"  and  "  An  Enemy  of 
Society." 

At  six  o'clock  the  whole  party  of  linguists  assembled 
in  the  private  sitting-room  of  the  master  of  the  work- 
house Dr.  Whitty  gave  them  a  short  address  of  an 
encouraging  kind,  pointing  out  that,  in  performing  an 
act  of  charity  they  were  making  the  best  possible  use 
of  the  education  they  had  received.  He  then  politely 
asked  Mrs.  Jackson  if  she  would  like  to  visit  the  foreigner 
first.  She  did  not  seem  anxious  to  push  herself  forward. 
Her  German,  she  confessed,  was  weak  ;  and  she  hoped 
that  if  she  was  reserved  until  the  last  he  might  possibly 
recognise  one  of  the  other  languages  before  her  turn 
came.  Everybody  else,  it  turned  out,  felt  very  much 
as  Mrs.  Jackson  did.  In  the  end  Dr.  Whitty  decided 
the  order  of  precedence  by  drawing  lots.  The  colonel, 
accepting  loyally  the  decision  of  destiny,  went  first 
and  returned  with  the  news  that  the  sailor  showed  no 
signs  of  being  able  to  understand  Russian.  Lizzie 
Glynn  went  next,  and  was  no  more  fortunate  with  her 
French. 

"  I'm  not  sure,"  she  said,  "  did  I  speak  it  right.  But, 
right  or  wrong,  he  didn't  know  a  word  I  said  to  him." 

Mr.  Jackson  arranged  his  notes  carefully  and  was 
conducted  by  the  doctor  to  the  ward.  He,  too,  returned 
without  having  made  himself  intelligible. 

"  I  knew  I  should  be  no  use,"  he  said.  "  I  expect 
modern  Greek  is  quite  different  from  the  language  I 
know." 


THE   INTERPRETERS.  299 

Father  Henaghan's  Latin  was  a  complete  failure. 
He  seemed  irritated  and  reported  very  unfavourably 
of  the  intelligence  of  the  patient. 

"  It's  my  belief,"  he  said,  "  that  the  man's  mind's  gone. 
He  must  have  got  a  crack  on  the  head  somehow,  as  well 
as  breaking  his  leg,  and  had  the  sense  knocked  out  of 
him.  He  looks  to  me  like  a  man  who'd  understand 
well  enough  when  you  talked  to  him  if  he  had  his  right 
mind." 

This  view  of  the  sailor's  condition  made  Mrs.  Jackson 
nervous.  She  said  she  had  no  experience  of  lunatics, 
and  disliked  being  brought  into  contact  with  them. 
She  wanted  to  back  out  of  her  promise  to  ask  the  neces- 
sary question  in  German.  In  the  end  she  consented 
to  go,  but  only  if  her  husband  was  allowed  to  Accompany 
her.  She  was  back  again  in  five  minutes,  and  said  defi- 
nitely that  the  man  knew  no  German  whatever. 

"  Now,"  said  the  colonel,  "  it's  your  turn,  doctor. 
Go  at  him  with  your  Norwegian." 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  the  doctor,  "  that,  owing  to  the 
three  plays  you  lent  me  being  merely  translations, 
I've  only  been  able  to  get  a  hold  of  one  Norwegian 
word.  However,  as  it  happens,  it  is  an  extremely 
useful  word  in  this  particular  case.  The  Norwegian 
for  a  clergyman,"  he  said,  triumphantly,  "  is  '  Pastor.' 
What's  more,  I've  got  a  hold  of  the  name  of  one  of  their 
clergy.  If  this  man  is  a  Norwegian,  and  has  been  in  the 
habit  of  going  to  the  theatre,  I  expect  he'll  know  all 
about  Pastor  Manders." 

"  It's  clever  of  you  to  have  fished  that  out  of  the  book 
I  lent  you,"  said  the  colonel.  "  But  I  don't  quite  see 
how  it  will  help  you  to  find  out  whether  our  friend 
with  the  broken  leg  is  a  Protestant  or  a  Roman  Catholic." 


300  HUMOURS  OF  IRISH  LIFE. 

"  It  will  help  if  it's  worked  properly,  if  it's  worked 
the  way  I  mean  to  work  it,  that  is  to  say,  if  the  man  is 
a  Norwegian,  and  I  don't  see  what  else  he  can  be." 

"  He  might  be  a  Turk,"  said  Father  Henaghan. 

"  No  he  couldn't.  I  tried  him  with  half  a  glass  of 
whiskey  this  morn,  and  he  simply  lapped  it  up.  If 
he  had  been  a  Turk  the  smell  of  it  would  have  turned 
him  sick.  We  may  fairly  assume  that  he  is,  as  I  say, 
a  Norwegian,  and  if  he  is  I'll  get  at  him.  I  shall  want 
you,  Father  Henaghan,  and  you,  Mr.  Jackson,  to  come 
with  me." 

"  I've  been  twice  already,"  said  Mr.  Jackson.  "  Do 
you  really  think  it  necessary  for  me 

"  I  shan't  ask  you  to  speak  another  word  of  ancient 
Greek,"  said  the  doctor.  "  You  needn't  do  anything 
except  stand  where  I  put  you  and  look  pleasant." 

He  took  the  priest  and  the  rector,  seizing  each  by  the 
arm,  and  swept  them  with  him  along  the  corridor  to  the 
ward  in  which  the  injured  sailor  lay.  He  set  them  one 
on  each  side  of  the  bed,  and  stood  at  the  foot  of  it  himself. 
The  sailor  stared  first  at  the  priest  and  next  at  the  rector. 
Then  he  looked  the  doctor  straight  in  the  face  and  his 
left  eyelid  twitched  slightly.  Dr.  Whitty  felt  almost 
certain  that  he  winked  ;  but  there  was  clearly  no 
reason  why  he  should  wink  with  any  malicious  intent, 
so  he  put  the  motion  down  to  some  nervous  affection. 

"  Pastor,"  said  the  doctor,  in  a  loud,  clear  tone, 
pointing  to  Father  Henaghan. 

The  sailor  looked  vacantly  at  the  priest. 

"  Pastor,"  said  the  doctor  again,  indicating  Mr. 
Jackson,  with  his  finger. 

The  sailor  turned  his  face  and  looked  at  Mr.  Jackson, 
but  there  was  no  sign  of  intelligence  on  his  face. 


THE   INTERPRETERS.  301 

"  Take  your  choice,"  said  the  doctor  ;  "  you  can  have 
either  one  or  the  other.  We  don't  want  to  influence 
you  in  the  slightest,  but  you've  got  to  profess  a  religion 
of  some  sort  while  you're  here,  and  these  clergymen 
represent  the  only  two  kinds  we  have.  One  or  other 
of  them  you  must  choose,  otherwise  the  unfortunate 
master  of  this  workhouse  will  get  into  trouble  for  not 
registering  you.  Hang  it  all !  I  don't  believe  the  fool 
knows  a  single  word  I'm  saying  to  him." 

Again,  the  man's  eyelid,  this  time  his  right,  eyelid, 
twitched. 

"  Don't  do  that,"  said  the  doctor ;  "it  distracts 
your  attention  from  what  I'm  saying.  Listen  to  me 
now.  Pastor  Manders !  "  He  pointed  to  the  priest. 
"  Pastor  Manders  !  "  He  indicated  the  rector. 

Neither  Father  Henaghan  nor  Mr.  Jackson  had  ever 
read  "  Ghosts,"  which  was  fortunate.  If  they  had  they 
might  have  resented  the  name  which  the  doctor  imposed 
on  them.  Apparently,  the  sailor  did  not  know  the 
play  either.  "  Manders  "  seemed  to  mean  no  more  to 
him  than  "  Pastor  "  did. 

"  There's  no  use  our  standing  here  all  evening,"  said 
Father  Henaghan.  "  You  told  me  to  look  pleasant,  and 
I  have— I  havent  looked  so  pleasant  for  a  long  time — 
but  I  don't  see  that  any  good  is  likely  to  come  of 
it." 

"  Come  on,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I've  done  my  best, 
and  I  can  do  no  more.  I'm  inclined  to  think  now  that 
the  man  must  be  either  a  Laplander  or  an  Esquimaux. 
He'd  have  understood  me  if  he'd  been  a  Dane,  a  Swede, 
a  Norwegian,  or  even  a  Finn." 

"  I  told  you,  as  soon  as  ever  I  set  eyes  on  him,"  said 
the  priest,  "  that  he  was  out  of  his  mind.  My  own 


302  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

belief  is,  doctor,  that  if  you  give  him  some  sort  of  a 
soothing  draught,  and  get  him  back  into  his  right  senses, 
he'll  turn  out  to  be  an  Irishman.  It's  what  he  looks 
like." 

Michael  Geraghty,  who  had  carted  the  injured  sailor 
from  the  shipwreck,  called  on  Dr.  Whitty  next  day  at 
breakfast-time. 

"  I  hear,"  he  said,  "  that  you  had  half  the  town  up 
yesterday  trying  could  they  get  a  word  out  of  that 
fellow  that's  in  the  hospital  with  the  broken  leg." 

"  I  had.  We  spoke  to  him  in  every  language  in 
Europe,  and  I'm  bothered  if  I  know  what  country  he 
belongs  to  at  all.  There  wasn't  one  of  us  he'd  answer." 

"  Did  you  think  of  trying  him  with  the  Irish  ?  " 

"  I  did  not.  Where  would  be  the  good  ?  If  he 
could  speak  Irish  he'd  be  sure  to  be  able  to  speak 
English." 

"  Would  you  have  any  objection  to  my  saying  a  few 
words  to  him,  doctor  ?  " 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world.  If  you've  nothing 
particular  to  do,  go  up  there  and  tell  the  master  I  sent 
you." 

An  hour  later  Michael  Geraghty  re-appeared  at  the 
doctor's  door.  He  was  grinning  broadly  and  seemed 
pleased  with  himself. 

"  Well,  Michael,  did  you  make  him  speak  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  like  to  say  a  word  to  you,  doctor,  till  I  made 
sure  for  fear  of  what  I  might  be  bringing  some  kind  of 
trouble  on  the  wrong  man;  but  as  soon  as  ever  I  seen 
that  fellow  put  into  my  cart  beyond  at  Carrigwee,  I  said 
to  myself  :  '  You're  mighty  like  poor  Affy  Hynes  that's 
gone,  only  a  bit  older.  I  took  another  look  at  him  as 
we  were  coming  along  the  road,  and,  says  I,  '  If  Affy 


THE  INTERPRETERS.  303 

Hynes  is  alive  this  minute  you're  him.  You'll  recol- 
lect, doctor,  that  the  poor  fellow  couldn't  speak  at  the 
time,  by  reason  of  the  cold  that  was  on  him  and  the 
broken  leg  and  all  the  hardships  he'd  been  through. 
Well,  looking  at  him  off  and  on,  till  I  got  to  the  work- 
house I  came  to  be  pretty  near  certain  that  it  was  either 
Affy  Hynes  or  a  twin  brother  of  his  ;  and  Mrs.  Hynes, 
the  mother,  that's  dead  this  ten  years,  never  had  but  the 
one  son." 

"  And  who  was  Affy  Hynes  ?  " 

"  It  was  before  your  time,  of  course,  and  before 
Father  Henaghan  was  parish  priest  ;  but  the  colonel 
would  know  who  I  mean."  Michael  sank  his  voice 
to  an  impressive  whisper.  "  Affy  Hynes  was  the  boy 
that  the  police  was  out  after  in  the  bad  times,  wanting 
to  have  him  hanged  on  account  of  the  way  that  the  bailiff 
was  shot.  But  he  made  off,  and  none  of  us  ever  knew 
where  he  went  to,  though  they  did  say  that  it  might  be 
to  an  uncle  of  his  that  was  in  America." 

"  Did  he  murder  the  bailiff  ?  " 

"  He  did  not ;  nor  1  don't  believe  he  knew  who  did, 
though  he  might." 

"  Then  what  did  he  run  away  for  ?  " 

"  For  fear  they'd  hang  him,"  said  Michael  Geraghty. 
"  Amn't  I  just  after  telling  you  ?  " 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Well,  when  Affy  came  to  himself  after  all  the  hard- 
ship he  had  it  wasn't  long  before  he  found  out  the  place 
he  was  in.  '  It's  Ballintra,'  says  he  to  himself,  '  or  it's 
mighty  like  it.'  There  did  be  a  great  dread  on  him 
then  that  the  police  would  be  out  after  him  again,  and 
have  him  took  ;  and,  says  he,  into  himself  like,  so  as 
no  one  would  hear  him,  '  I'll  let  on  I  can't  understand 


304  HUMOURS   OF  IRISH  LIFE. 

a  word  they  say  to  me,  so  as  they  won't  know  my 
voice,  anyway.'  And  so  he  did  ;  but  he  went  very 
near  laughing  one  time  when  you  had  the  priest  and 
the  minister,  one  on  each  side  of  him,  and  '  Pastor,' 
says  you — 

"  Never  mind  that  part,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  If  it's  displeasing  to  you  to  hear  about  it,  I'll  not 
say  another  word.  Only,  I'd  be  thankful  if  you'd 
tell  me  why  you  called  the  both  of  them 
Manders.  It's  what  Affy  was  saying  to  me  this  minute  : 
'  Michael,'  says  he,  '  is  Manders  the  name  that's  on  the 
priest  that's  in  the  parish  presently  ? '  '  It  is  not,' 
says  I,  '  but  Henaghan.'  '  That's  queer,'  said  he.  '  Is 
it  Manders  they  call  the  minister  ? '  '  It  is  not,'  I 
says  ;  'it's  Jackson.  There  never  was  one  in  the  place 
of  the  name  of  Manders,  priest  or  minister.'  '  That's 
queer,'  says  he  '  for  the  doctor  called  both  the  two  of 
them  Manders.'  " 

"  So  he  understood  every  word  we  said  to  him  all  the 
time  ?  "  said  the  doctor. 

"  Not  the  whole  of  it,  nor  near  the  whole,"  said 
Michael  Geraghty.  "  He's  been  about  the  world  a 
deal,  being  a  sailor  and  he  said  he  could  make  out  what 
Miss  Glynn  was  saying  pretty  well,  and  knew  the 
minister's  lady  was  talking  Dutch,  though  he  couldn't 
tell  what  she  was  saying,  for  it  wasn't  just  the  same 
Dutch  as  he'd  been  accustomed  to  hearing.  The 
colonel  made  a  middling  good  offer  at  the  Russian.  Affy 
was  a  year  one  time  in  them  parts,  and  he  knows  ;  but 
he  said  he'd  be  damned  if  he  could  make  any  kind  of 
a  guess  at  what  either  the  priest  or  the  minister  was  at, 
and  he  told  me  to  be  sure  and  ask  you  what  they  were 
talking  because  he'd  like  to  know." 


THE   INTERPRETERS  305 

"  I'll  go  up  and  see  him  myself,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  If  you  speak  the  Irish  to  him  he'll  answer  you," 
said  Michael. 

"  I  will,  if  he  likes,"  said  the  doctor.  "  But  why 
won't  he  speak  English  ?  " 

"  There's  a  sort  of  dread  on  him,"  said  Michael 
Geraghty.  "  I  think  he'd  be  more  willing  to  trust 
you  if  you'd  speak  to  him  in  the  Irish,  it  being  all  one 
to  you.  He  bid  me  say  to  you,  and  it's  a  good  job  I 
didn't  forget  it,  that  if  so  be  he's  dying,  you  might  tell 
Father  Henaghan  he's  a  Catholic,  the  way  he'd  attend 
on  him  ;  but  if  he's  to  live,  he'd  as  soon  no  one  but 
yourself  and  me  knew  he  was  in  the  place." 

Dr.  Whitty  went  up  to  the  workhouse,  turned  the  nurse 
out  of  the  ward,  and  sat  down  beside  Affy  Hynes. 

"  Tell  me  this  now,"  he  said,  "  why  didn't  you  let 
me  know  who  you  were  ?  I  wouldn't  have  told  on 
you." 

"  I  was  sorry  after  that  I  didn't,"  said  Affy,  "  when  I 
seen  all  the  trouble  that  I  put  you  to.  It  was  too  much 
altogether  fetching  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  up  here 
to  be  speaking  to  the  like  of  me.  It's  what  never 
happened  to  me  before,  and  I'm  sorry  you  were 
bothered." 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  then  ?  " 

"  Sure,  I  did  my  best.  Did  you  not  see  me  winking 
at  you  once,  when  you  had  the  priest  and  the  minister 
in  with  me,  as  much  as  to  say  :  '  Doctor,  if  I  thought 
I  could  trust  you  I'd  tell  you  the  truth  this  minute.' 
I  made  full  sure  you'd  understand  what  it  was  I  was 
meaning  the  second  time,  even  if  you  didn't  at  the  firsl 
go-off." 


306  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE 

"  That's  not  what  I  gathered  from  your  wink  at  all," 
said  the  doctor.  "  I  thought  you'd  got  some  kind  of 
a  nervous  affection  of  the  eye." 

"  It's  a  queer  thing,  now,"  said  Affy,  "  that  the  two 
of  them  reverend  gentlemen  should  have  the  same  name, 
and  that  Manders." 

"  We'll  drop  that  subject,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  We  will,  of  course,  if  it's  pleasing  to  you.  But 
it  is  queer  all  the  same,  and  I'd  be  glad  if  I  knew  the  reason 
of  it,  for  it  must  be  mighty  confusing  for  the  people 
of  this  place,  both  Catholic  and  Protestant.  Tell  me 
now,  doctor,  is  there  any  fear  that  I  might  be  took  by 
the  police?  " 

"  Not  a  bit.  That  affair  of  yours,  whatever  it  was, 
is  blown  over  long  ago." 

"  Are  you  certain  of  that  ?" 

"  I  am." 

"  Then  as  soon  as  I'm  fit  I'll  take  a  bit  of  a  stroll  out 
and  look  at  the  old  place.  I'd  like  to  see  it  again. 
Many's  the  time  I've  said  to  myself,  me  being,  may  be, 
in  some  far-away  country  at  the  time,  '  I'd  like  to  see 
Ballintra  again,  and  the  house  where  my  mother  lived, 
and  the  bohireen  that  the  asses  does  be  going  along 
into  the  bog  when  the  turf's  brought  home.'  Is  it  there 
yet  ?  " 

"  I  expect  it  is,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  God  is  good,"  said  Affy.  "  It's  little  ever  I 
expected  to  set  eyes  on  it." 


A  TEST  OF  TRUTH. 


307 


A   Test  of  Truth. 

From  "  Irish  Neighbours.'" 
BY  JANE  BARLOW. 

JIM  HANLON,  the  cobbler,  was  said  by  his  neighbours 
to  have  had  his  own  share  of  trouble,  and  they  often 
added,  "  And  himself  a  very  dacint  man,  goodness 
may  pity  him  !  "  His  misfortunes  began  when  poor 
Mary  Anne,  his  wife,  died,  leaving  him  forlorn  with 
one  rather  sickly  little  girl,  and  they  seemed  to  culminate 
when  one  frosty  morning  a  few  years  later  he  broke  his 
leg  with  a  fall  on  his  way  to  visit  Minnie  in  hospital. 
The  neighbours,  who  were  so  much  impressed  by  her 
father's  good  qualities  and  bad  luck,  did  not  hold  an 
equally  favourable  opinion  about  this  Minnie,  inclining 
to  consider  her  a  "  cross-tempered,  spoilt  little  shrimp 
of  a  thing."  But  Jim  himself  thought  that  the 
width  of  the  world  contained  nothing  like  her,  which  was 
more  or  less  true.  So  when  she  fell  ill  of  a  low  fever, 
and  the  doctor  said  that  the  skilled  nursing  in  a  Dublin 
hospital  would  be  by  far  her  best  chance,  it  was  only 
after  a  sore  struggle  that  Jim  could  make  up  his  mind  to 
let  her  go.  And  then  his  visit  to  her  at  the  first  moment 
possible  had  brought  about  the  unwary  walking  and 
slip  on  a  slide,  which  resulted  so  disastrously. 

It  was  indeed  a  most  deplorable  accident.  If  it 
had  happened  somewhere  near  Minnie's  hospital,  he 
said  to  himself,  it  might  have  been  less  unlucky,  but, 
alas,  the  whole  city  spread  between  them  and  the 
institution  whither  he  was  brought.  The  sense  of  his 


308  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

helplessness  almost  drove  him  frantic,  as  he  lay  in  the 
long  ward  fretting  over  the  thought  that  he  was  tied 
by  the  leg,  unable  to  come  next  or  nigh  her,  whatever 
might  befall,  or  even  to  get  a  word  of  news  about  her. 
But  on  this  latter  point  his  forebodings  were  not  fulfilled, 
his  neighbours  proved  themselves  to  be  friends  in  need. 
At  the  tidings  of  his  mishap  they  made  their  way  in  to 
see  him  from  unhandy  little  Ballyhoy,  undeterred  by 
what  was  often  to  them  no  very  trivial  expense  and 
inconvenience.  Nor  were  they  slow  to  discover  that 
they  could  do  him  no  greater  service  than  find  out  for 
him  "what  way  herself  was  at  all  over  at  the  other  place.' 
Everybody  helped  him  readily  in  this  matter,  more 
especially  three  or  four  good-natured  Ballyhoy  matrons. 
On  days  when  they  came  into  town  to  do  their  bits 
of  marketing  they  would  augment  their  toils  by  long 
trudges  on  foot,  or  costly  drives  on  tramcars,  that  they 
might  convey  to  Jim  Hanlon  the  report  for  which  he 
pined.  They  considered  neither  their  heavy  baskets, 
nor  the  circumstance  that  they  were  folk  to  whom 
time  was  time,  and  a  penny  a  penny  indeed. 

Yet,  sad  to  say,  great  as  was  Jim's  relief  and  his 
gratitude,  their  very  zeal  did  in  some  degree  diminish 
the  value  of  their  kindness.  For  their  evident  desire 
to  please  and  pacify  him  awakened  in  his  mind  doubts 
about  the  means  which  they  might  adopt ;  and  it  must 
be  admitted  that  his  mistrust  was  not  altogether 
ungrounded.  The  tales  which  they  carried  to  him  from 
"  the  other  place "  were  not  seldom  intrinsically 
improbable,  and  sounded  all  the  more  so  to  him  because 
of  his  intimate  acquaintance  with  their  subject.  When 
Mrs.  Jack  Doyle  averred  that  Minnie  was  devouring 
all  before  her,  and  that  the  nurse  said  a  s  trong  man  would 


A  TEST   OF  TRUTH.  309 

scarce  eat  as  much  as  she  did,  Jim  remembered  Minnie's 
tomtit-like  meals  at  home,  and  found  the  statement  hard 
to  accept.  It  was  still  worse  when  they  gave  him 
effusively  affectionate  messages,  purporting  to  come  from 
Minnie,  who  had  always  been  anything  in  the  world 
but  demonstrative  and  sentimental.  His  heart  sank 
as  Mrs.  Doran  assured  him  that  Minnie  had  sent  her 
love  to  her  own  darling  treasure  of  a  precious  old  daddy, 
for  he  knew  full  well  that  no  such  greeting  had  ever 
emanated  from  Minnie,  and  how  could  he  tell,  Jim 
reflected,  but  that  they  might  be  as  apt  to  deceive  him 
about  one  thing  as  another  ?  Perhaps  there  was  little 
or  no  truth  in  what  they  told  him  about  the  child  being 
so  much  better,  and  able  to  sit  up,  and  so  forth.  Like 
enough  one  couldn't  believe  a  word  they  said.  On 
this  terribly  baffling  question  he  pondered  continually 
with  a  troubled  mind. 

Saturday  mornings  were  always  the  most  likely  to 
bring  him  visitors,  and  on  a  certain  Saturday  he  rejoiced 
to  hear  that  somebody  was  asking  for  him.  He  was  all 
the  more  pleased  because  the  lateness  of  the  hour  had 
made  him  despair  of  seeing  any  friends,  and  because 
this  portly,  good-humoured  Mrs.  Connolly  was  just 
the  person  he  had  been  wishing  to  come.  She  explained 
that  she  would  have  paid  him  a  visit  sooner,  had  not 
all  her  children  been  laid  up  with  colds,  and  then,  as 
he  had  hoped,  she  went  on  to  say  that  she  was  going  over 
to  see  after  little  Minnie.  "  And  the  Sister  here's 
promised  me,"  said  Mrs.  Connolly,  "  she'll  let  me  in 
to  bring  you  word  on  me  way  back,  even  if  I'm  a  trifle 
beyond  the  right  visitin'  time  itself." 

Thereupon  Jim  produced  a  sixpence  from  under  his 
pillow,  where  he  had  kept  it  ready  all  the  long  morning. 


3IO  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH  LIFE. 

"  If  it  wouldn't  be  throublin'  you  too  much,  ma'am," 
he  said,  "  I  was  wonderin'  is  there  e'er  a  place  you  would 
be  passin*  by  where  you  could  get  some  sort  of  a  little 
doll  wid  this  for  Minnie." 

"  Is  it  a  doll  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Connolly.  "  Why  to 
be  sure  I  will,  and  welcome.  I  know  a  shop  in  O'Connell 
Street  where  they've  grand  sixpenny  dolls,  dressed  real 
delightful.  I'll  get  her  a  one  of  them  as  aisy  as  anythin'." 
Mrs.  Connolly  knew  that  the  price  of  the  dolls  she  had 
in  her  eye  was  actually  sixpence-halfpenny,  but  she 
at  once  resolved  to  pay  the  halfpenny  herself  and  not 
let  on. 

"  And  you  might  maybe  be  gettin'  her  an  orange 
wid  this,"  Jim  said,  handing  her  a  penny. 

"  Well,  now,  it's  the  lucky  child  poor  Minnie  is,"  Mrs. 
Connolly  declared,  "  to  have  such  a  good  daddy.  Finely 
set  up  she  will  be  wid  a  doll  and  an  orange.  I'll  bring 
her  the  best  in  Dublin,  Jim,  no  fear." 

"  She  might  fancy  the  orange,  anyway,"  Jim  said, 
half  to  himself,  with  a  queer  remorseful  sort  of  look. 

Mrs.  Connolly  having  gone,  he  began  to  expect  her 
back  again  with  an  unreasonable  promptitude  which 
lengthened  the  afternoon  prodigiously.  He  had 
suffered  innumerable  apprehensions,  and  fidgetted 
himself  into  a  fever  of  anxiety  before  she  could  possibly 
have  returned.  At  last,  however,  when  her  broad, 
cheerful  countenance  did  reappear  to  him,  looming 
through  the  misty  March  dusk,  he  felt  that  he  would 
almost  have  chosen  a  further  delay.  For  he  had  staked 
so  much  upon  this  venture  that  the  crisis  of  learning, 
whether  it  had  failed  or  succeeded  could  not  but  be 
rather  terrible. 

There    was    nothing    apparently    alarming    in    Mrs. 


A  TEST  OF  TRUTH  31  j 

Connolly's  report.  She  had  found  Minnie  doing 
finely.  Her  nurse  said  she  would  be  out  of  bed  next 
week,  and  was  very  apt  to  get  her  health  better  than 
before  she  took  bad.  The  orange  had  pleased  her 
highly,  and  she  had  bid  Mrs.  Connolly  tell  her  daddy 
that  he  might  be  sending  her  another  one  next  Saturday 
if  he  liked.  All  this  was  good  as  far  as  it  went,  but  about 
the  doll,  Mrs.  Connolly  kept  silence,  and  it  struck  Jim 
that  she  shrank  away  from  anything  which  seemed 
leading  towards  a  reference  to  the  subject.  Jim,  who 
at  first  had  half  dreaded  and  half  longed  every  moment 
to  hear  her  speak  of  it,  began  to  think  that  she  might  go 
away  without  mentioning  it,  which  would  not  do  at  all. 
In  the  end  he  had  to  introduce  it  himself. 

"  And  how  about  the  bit  of  a  doll,  ma'am  ?  "  he 
inquired  as  unconcernedly  as  he  could.  "  Was  you 
able  to  get  her  e'er  a  one  ?  " 

Unmistakably  Mrs.  Connolly  was  much  disconcerted 
by  the  question.  Her  face  fell,  and  she  hesitated  for 
a  while  before  she  replied,  with  evident  reluctance — 

"  Sure,  now,  man  alive,  you  never  can  tell  what 
quare  notions  childer'll  take  up  wid  when  they're  sick, 
and  more  especially  when  they  do  be  about  gettin' 
well  agin,  the  way  Minnie  is  now.  Quiet  enough  the 
crathurs  do  be  as  long  as  they're  rale  bad.  But,  tellin' 
you  the  truth,  Jim,  not  a  bit  of  her  would  look  at  the 
doll.  Some  fantigue  she  had  agin  it,  whatever  ailed 
her,  an*  it  a  great  beauty,  wid  a  pink  sash  on  it  and  all 
manner.  Slingin'  it  into  the  middle  of  the  floor  she  was, 
only  the  nurse  caught  a  hould  of  it,  an'  biddin'  me  to 
take  it  away  out  of  that.  So  says  I  to  her,  '  What  at  all 
should  I  do  wid  the  lovely  doll,  after  your  poor  daddy 
sendin'  it  to  yourself  ? '  And,  says  she  to  me,  '  Give 


312  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

the  ugly  big  lump  of  a  thing  to  the  ould  divil,'  says  she, 
'  an*  let  him  give  it  to  the  little  young  black-leggy  divils 
to  play  wid  if  they  like.'  I  declare  to  you,  Jim,  thim 
was  the  very  words  of  her,  sittin'  up  in  her  bed,  not 
lookin'  the  size  of  anythin'.  'Deed,  now,  she's  the 
comical  child.  But  sure  who'd  be  mindin'  her  ?  And 
the  nurse  says  she'll  keep  the  doll  till  to-morrow,  an' 
if  Minnie  doesn't  fancy  it  then,  she'll  give  it  to  the  little 
girl  in  the  next  cot  that  does  be  frettin'  after  her  mother, 
so  it  won't  go  to  loss.  An*  besides — " 

She  stopped  short  in  surprise,  for  Jim,  who  had  been 
laughing  silently  to  himself,  now  broke  out  in  tones  of 
positive  rapture — 

"  '  The  little  young  black-leggy  divils  ' — that's  Minnie 
herself,  and  no  mistake  this  time,  glory  be  to  God  ! 
Sorra  the  fantigue  it  was,  but  just  the  nathur  of  her, 
for  the  thoughts  of  a  doll  she  never  could  abide  all  the 
days  of  her  life.  She'd  as  lief  be  playin'  wid  a  snake 
or  a  toad.  So  if  you'd  let  on  to  me  that  she  liked  it, 
ma'am,  well  I'd  know  'twas  only  romancin'  to  me  you 
were.  But  the  truth  you  tould  me,  right  enough,  and 
thank  you  kindly.  The  little  villin'll  be  runnin'  about 
before  I  am,  plaze  goodness.  Och,  bedad,  I  can  see 
her  slingin'  it  neck  an'  crop  out  of  the  bed." 

As  Jim  fell  to  laughing  again,  Mrs.  Connolly  looked  at 
him  puzzled,  and  with  some  disapproval,  though  she 
would  not  express  the  latter  sentiment  to  him  in  his 
invalided  condition.  But  she  soon  afterwards  took  leave, 
and  on  her  homeward  way  she  said  to  herself,  "  Musha, 
good  gracious,  mightn't  one  suppose  Jim  Hanlon  'ud 
have  more  since  than  to  go  sind  the  poor  imp  of  a  child 
a  prisint  only  for  the  sake  of  annoyin'  her  ?  'Twas 
the  quare,  foolish  way  to  be  spendin'  a  sixpence,  in  my 


A  TEST  OF  TRUTH.  313 

opinion.  But  sure,  'twas  be  way  of  a  joke,  an'  the  poor 
man  hasn't  much  chance  of  e'er  a  one  lyin*  there.  It's 
wonderful  the  store  men  set  by  nonsense.  Sometimes 
you'd  think  they  were  all  born  fools,  they  do  be  that 
aisy  amused.  You'll  hear  thim  guffawin'  like  a  jackass 
bewitched  over  silly  ould  blathers  that  an  infant  child 
'ud  have  more  wit  than  to  be  mindin'." 

Certainly,  Jim  was  so  well  satisfied  with  his  joke,  if 
joke  it  were,  that  when  he  grew  drowsy  towards  evening, 
his  last  thoughts  made  him  chuckle  contentedly.  "  The 
little  black-leggy  divils,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  Glory 
be  to  God  !  she's  finely."  And  he  fell  asleep  with  a 
glad  and  grateful  heart. 


314  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE 

The   Wise   Woman. 

From  "  A  Boy  in  the  Country" 
BY  JOHN  STEVENSON. 

THAT  she  knew  far  more  than  all  the  doctors  put 
together  was  commonly  considered,  in  the  territory  of 
her  operations,  as  truth  beyond  question.  Sometimes 
a  man  body,  with  a  pain  for  which  he  could  not  account, 
fearing  the  inquisition  and  expense  of  the  qualified 
practitioner,  would  make  believe  to  doubt  the  potency 
of  her  medicines,  the  reality  of  her  cures.  But  even  the 
discernment  of  a  boy  was  sufficient  to  detect  the  insin- 
cerity of  his  contemptuous  talk  about  "  auld  wife's 
doctorin',"  and  to  find  lurking  behind  his  brave  words 
the  strong  desire  to  consult  the  wise  woman.  With 
much  show  of  impatience,  and  pretence  of  anger,  at  the 
over-persuasion  of  his  womankind,  he  would  give  a 
seemingly  reluctant  consent  to  see  Mrs.  Moloney, 
"  if  she  should  happen  to  look  in."  He  knew  as  well  as 
that  he  lived  that  her  coming  would  be  by  invitation. 

Such  a  one,  receiving  in  the  field  the  message  that 
"  Mrs  Moloney's  in,"  would  probably  say,  "  Hoots, 
nonsense,"  and  add  that  he  had  his  work  to  look  after. 
But,  very  soon,  he  would  find  that  he  needed  a  spade  or 
a  hook,  a  pot  of  paint,  or  a  bit  of  rope,  from  home,  and 
he  must  needs  go  home  for  it  himself.  He  believed 
in  a  man's  doing  a  thing  for  himself  if  he  wanted  it  well 
done  ;  as  like  as  not  a  messenger  would  spend  half  a 
day  in  looking  for  what  he  wanted,  and  bring  the  wrong 
thing  in  the  end  At  home  he  would  make  a  fine  show 
of  searching  out-houses  and  lofts,  passing  and  repassing, 


THE  WISE  WOMAN.  315 

with  some  noise,  the  kitchen  windows,  finally  looking 
in  to  see  if  the  thing  is  in  the  kitchen  ;  and  there,  of 
course,  quite  accidentally,  he  would  see  Mrs.  Moloney 
and  would  not  be  rude  enough  to  leave  without  passing 
the  time  o'  day.  Then  the  womankind  took  hold  of  the 
case,  drew  out  the  man's  story  of  distress,  took  notes 
of  the  remedy,  and  saw  to  it  that  the  medicine  was 
taken  according  to  direction. 

"  The  innards  o'  man  is  tough,  and  need  to  be  dealt 
with  according"  said  Mrs.  Moloney,  and  for  man  she 
prescribed  a  dose  which  gave  him  some  pain  and,  usually, 
cured  him.  It  may  be  that  Nature,  provoked  by  the 
irritant  remedy,  got  rid  of  it,  and  the  ailment  at  once  ;  or 
it  may  be  that  the  man  body,  after  the  racket  in  "  his 
innards,"  found  his  ailment,  by  comparison,  easy  to  live 
with,  and  imagined  himself  cured.  In  either  case, 
the  result  was  counted  as  cure  to  the  credit  of  Mrs. 
Moloney. 

By  profession  a  seller  of  needles,  pins,  buttons,  and 
such  small  wares,  she  owed  her  livelihood,  in  reality, 
to  payment  for  her  medical  skill.  Not  that  she  took 
money  for  her  prescription  or  advice — "  Thanks  be  to 
God,"  she  said,  "  I  never  took  wan  penny  for  curin' 
man,  woman,  or  child  "  ;  but  then,  no  one  ever  asked 
her  advice  without  buying  something,  and  if  her  charges 
were  just  a  little  more  than  shop  prices,  she  was  entitled 
to  something  extra  for  bringing  the  shop  to  the  customer. 
Then  she  got  her  meals  from  grateful  and  believing 
patients,  and  her  basket  had  an  uncommercial  end, 
covered  with  a  fair,  white  cloth,  into  which  the  good 
wife,  with  some  show  of  doing  good  by  stealth,  intro- 
duced the  useful  wreck  of  a  boiled  fowl,  or  a  ham-bone 
with  broth  possibilities. 


3l6  HUMOURS  OF  IRISH   LIFE. 

She  did  not  meddle  with  diseases  of  children,  except 
in  cases  of  measles,  for  which  she  prescribed  whisky 
and  sulphur,  and  a  diet  of  sweet  milk  warm  from  the 
cow.  Decline,  she  considered  to  be  due  to  "  a  sappin' 
o'  the  constitution,"  and  she  shared  the  old-time  belief 
in  the  noxious  effect  of  night  air  on  consumptives,  and 
would  have  them  warm  in  curtained  four-posters,  in 
rooms  into  which  little  light  and  no  fresh  air  could 
enter.  Beyond  a  recommendation  of  port  wine,  she  had 
no  message  for  healing  for  these  poor  sufferers.  Her 
strength  lay  in  the  treatment  of  adults'  ailments  which 
do  not  necessarily  kill.  Her  list  of  diseases  was  a  short 
one.  For  the  numerous  forms  of  hepatic  trouble  known 
to  the  professional,  she  had  one  comprehensive  title — 

Liver  Complent, 

and  for  it  one  remedy,  varied  only  in  magnitude  of  dose. 
She  recognised  also  as  a  common  ailment — 

Stomach  Complent, 

differentiating  under  this  heading,  Andygestion,  Water- 
brash,  and  Shuperfluity  o'  phlegm  on  the  stomach. 
She  knew,  too — 

Bowel  Comp  lent , 

Rheumatism, 
Gineral  Wakeness, 

and 

Harry  Siplars.* 

The  foundation  of  her  great  reputation  was,  indeed, 
largely  built  on  her  celebrated  cure  of  this  last,  in  the 
case  of  Peggy  Mulligan.  She  shall  tell  of  it  herself  : — 

"  She  come  to  me,  an'  she  ses,  '  Mary,'  ses  she, 
'can  ye  cure  me,  for  I'm  heart-sick  o' them  doctors  at  the 

"Erysipelas. 


THE  WISE  WOMAN.  317 

dispinsary,  an'  they're  not  doin'  me  wan  pick  o'  good.' 
Ses  I  to  her,  ses  I,  '  What  did  they  give  ye  ? '  ses  I. 
'  O  the  dear  knows,'  ses  she.  '  I  haven't  tuk  anythin' 
they  said,  for  I  didn't  believe  they  would  do  me  no 
good.'  An'  I  had  pity  on  the  cratur,  for  her  face  was  the 
size  o'  a  muckle  pot,  an'  lek  nothin'  under  the  sun. 
Ses  I  to  her,  ses  I,  *  I  can  cure  you,  my  good  woman, 
but  ye'll  hev  to  do  what  you're  tould,'  ses  I,  '  an'  I'll 
make  no  saycret  about  it,'  ses  I — '  it's  cow-dung  and 
flour  mixed,  an'  ye'll  put  it  on  your  face,  an'  lave  it  there 
for  a  fortnight,'  ses  I,  '  an'  when  ye'll  wash  it  off,  ye'll 
have  no  Harry  Siplars.'  An'  nether  she  had." 

She  had  a  fine  professional  manner,  and  she  knew  how 
to  set  at  ease  the  anxious  patient.  The  concerned  man 
body,  wishful  to  appear  unconcerned,  she  took  at  his 
own  valuation  ;  appearing  more  interested  in  a  bit  of 
chat  or  gossip  of  the  country  than  in  particulars  of 
pains  and  aches.  And  while  she  talked  with  him  of 
crops  and  kine,  and  the  good  and  ill-doings  of  men's 
sons,  the  wife  would  urge  John  to  tell  Mrs.  Moloney 
about  that  bit  of  pain  of  his  and  how  he  could  not  sleep 
for  it  o'  nights.  Then  the  wise  woman  would  mention 
something  which  the  good  wife  "  might  "  get  for  the 
good  man — it  would  cure  him  in  no  time,  but — turning 
to  the  man, — "  'deed,  an'  there's  not  much  the  matter 
with  ye.  It's  yerself  that's  gettin'  younger  lookin' 
every  year — shows  the  good  care  the  mistress  takes  o' 
ye."  And  the  gratified  creature  would  retire,  proud 
to  think  that  he  had  acted  so  well  the  part  of  the  uncon- 
cerned, and  filled  with  respect  for  Mrs.  Moloney  as  a 
woman  of  "  great  sinse  and  onderstandin'.  " 

Of  new-fangled  diseases  she  had  a  perfect  horror, 
speaking  of  them  more  in  anger  than  in  sorrow,  as  of 


318  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

things  which  never  should  have  been  introduced  Even 
the  New  Ralgy  she  declined  to  entertain,  dismissing 
the  mention  of  it,  contemptuously,  in  the  formula, 
"  New  Ralgy  or  Ould  Ralgy,  I'll  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it."  To  it,  however,  as  Tic  Doloro,*  she  gave  a 
qualified  recognition,  allowing  its  right  to  existence, 
but  condemning  it  as  outlandish,  and  a  gentry's  ailment, 
which  the  gentry  should  keep  to  themselves.  And 
while  she  did  not  refuse  to  treat  it  (with  "  Lodelum  " 
in  "  sperrits,"  hot  milk,  and  a  black  stocking  tied  round 
the  jaws),  the  patient  was  made  to  feel  a  certain  degree 
of  culpability  in  touching  a  thing  with  which  she  should 
not  have  meddled,  and  that  Mrs.  Moloney  had  reason  for 
feeling  displeased. 

Very  different  was  her  attitude  to  one  suffering  from 
Gineral  Wakeness.  This  was  her  pet  diagnosis,  and 
one  much  craved  by  overworked  and  ailing  farmers' 
wives,  for  it  meant  for  them  justification  of  rest,  and 
indulgence  in  food  and  drink  which  they  would  have 
been  afraid  or  ashamed  to  ask  or  take,  unfortified  by 
an  authoritative  command.  No  man  ever  suffered 
from  Gineral  Wakeness — it  was  a  woman's  trouble, 
and  never  failed  to  draw  from  Mrs.  Moloney  a  flood  of 
understanding  sympathy,  which  was  to  the  despairing 
one  like  cool  water  on  the  hot  and  thirsty  ground,  making 
hope  and  health  revive  ere  yet  medicament  had  been 
prescribed.  Seated  before  the  patient,  she  would  sway 
slowly  back  and  forward,  gently  patting  the  while  the 
afflicted's  hand,  and  listening,  with  rapt  attention,  to  the 
longest  and  dreariest  tale  of  woe. 

The  Patient. — O,  but  it's  the  weary  woman  I  am, 
waitin'  and  hopin'  that  you  would  come  roun'.  'Deed, 
*Tic  douloureux. 


THE  WISE  WOMAN.  3IQ 

and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  hope  o'  seem'  ye  I  would 
have  give  up  altogether. 

Mrs.  M. — Puir  dear  ;  tell  me  all  aboot  it. 

The  Patient. — It's  a  cough  and  a  wakeness  and  a 
drappin'-down  feelin',  as  if  my  legs  were  goin'  from 
under  me  ;  and  I  could  no  more  lift  that  girdle  o'  bread 
there  than  I  could  fly — not  if  ye  were  to  pay  me  a 
thousand  pound. 

Mrs.  M. — I  know,  dear  ;  if  it  were  writ  out  I  cudn't 
see  it  plainer. 

The  Patient. — And  when  I  get  up  in  the  mornin',  I 
declare  to  ye,  I  have  to  sit  on  the  edge  o'  the  bed  for  five 
minutes  before  puttin'  fut  to  groun',  and  if  I  didn't 
take  a  sup  of  cold  water  I  couldn't  put  on  my  clothes. 

Mrs.  M. — That's  it,  dear  ;  that's  just  the  way  it  goes. 

The  Patient. — And  as  for  breakfast,  I  declare  to  ye, 
ye  couldn't  see  what  I  ate. 

Mrs.  M. — That's  a  sure  sign,  a  sure  sign. 

The  Patient.— And  all  through  the  day  it's  just  the 
same  thing.  I'm  just  in  a  state  of  collops  the  whole 
time.  Niver  a  moment's  aise  the  day  through,  especi- 
ally in  the  afternoon  It's  just  hingin'  on  I  am  ;  that's 
what  it  raly  is. 

After  an  hour  of  alternating  symptomatic  description 
and  sympathetic  response,  interrupted  only  by  the 
making  and  drinking  of  tea,  the  wise  woman  is  prepared 
to  utter,  and  the  patient  to  hear,  the  words  of  healing. 

"  Now,  dearie,  listen  to  me,  that's  a  good  woman. 
It's  Gineral  Wakeness  that  ails  ye.  I  knew  it  the  minute 
I  set  fut  inside  the  dure.  Ses  I  to  myself,  ses  I, '  There's 
Gineral  Wakeness  writ  on  the  mistress's  face  ;  it's 
prented  on  her  face  like  a  book,'  ses  I,  'before  ever  she 
says  a  word  to  me.'  Now  listen,  dearie,  and  do  what  I 


320  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

tell  ye.  Ye'll  get  a  bottle  o'  sherry  wine,  and  ye'll  take 
a  bate-up  egg  in  milk  every  day,  with  a  sup  o'  sherry 
in  it,  at  eleven  o'clock.  And  ye'll  fill  that  pot  there 
with  dandelion  leaves  and  roots,  and  a  handful  o'  mint 
on  the  top  o'  it,  and  ye'll  put  as  much  water  on  it  as '11 
cover  it,  and  ye'll  let  it  sit  at  the  side  o'  the  fire  all  day 
until  all  the  vartue  is  out  o'  it.  And  ye'll  take  a  table- 
spoonful  o'  it  three  times  a  day,  immajintly  before  your 
meals.  And  every  day,  whin  it  comes  to  three  o'clock, 
ye'll  go  to  your  bed  and  lie  down  for  an  hour,  and  when 
ye  get  up  ye'll  take  a  cup  o'  tay.  Do  that  now,  an'  ye'll 
not  know  yerself  whin  I  come  back." 

As  Mrs.  Moloney's  list  of  legitimate  and  proper 
country  diseases  was  a  short  one,  so  was  her  pharmaco- 
poeia a  small  book.  Besides  such  common  remedies 
as  Epsom  salts,  senna,  ginger,  and  powdered  rhubarb, 
it  took  account  of — 

Lodelum      . .         . .  which  is  Laudanum, 
Hickery  pickery      . .  „        Hiera  picra, 

Gum  Go  Whackem  ,,        Gum  guaiacum, 

Assy  Fettidy  . .  „        Asafoetida, 

as  chemist's  stuff  fit  for  her  practice,  and  of  various 
herbs  (pronounced  yarbs),  alterative  or  curative,  such 
as  dandelion,  camomile,  peppermint,  and  apple-balm. 
As  she  said  herself,  she  made  no  "  saycret  "  of  many  of 
her  remedies,  but  she  was  wise  enough  to  carry  and 
dispense  certain  agents  ;  for,  to  the  benefit  of  the  wise 
woman,  these  free  gifts  constituted  a  claim  for  the 
liberal  purchase  of  small  wares,  and  the  use  of  one  of 
these  gave  a  certain  cachet  to  an  ailment  which,  with  a 
prescription  of  hot  milk  and  pepper,  or  of  ginger  tea, 
would  have  been  sufficiently  commonplace  These 


THE  WISE  WOMAN.  321 

secret  remedies  were  kept  in  little  bottles,  each  of  which 
had  its  own  sewed  compartment  in  a  large  linen  pocket 
hanging  at  the  mistress's  waist,  between  the  gown  and 
the  uppermost  petticoat.  A  certain  solemnity  attached 
to  their  production — three,  four,  or  five  being  invariably 
drawn  and  set  out  on  the  table,  even  when,  as  in  most 
cases,  the  contents  of  one  only  was  needed.  Mrs. 
Moloney  would  contemplate  the  range,  attentively 
and  silently,  for  a  few  minutes  ;  lifting  one  after  another, 
wrinkling  her  brows  the  while,  and,  finally,  selecting 
and  uncorking  one,  while  she  requested  "  a  clane  bottle 
and  a  good  cork."  The  selected  drug  was  generally 
a  crystal  ;  the  bottle,  by  request,  was  half-filled  with 
hot  water,  in  which,  through  vigorous  shaking,  the 
crystal  rapidly  disappeared.  Handing  the  bottle  to  the 
patient,  the  instruction  would  be  given  to  take  a  table- 
spoonful  immediately  after  eating.  Silly  young  folks, 
who  had  no  need  of  the  good  woman's  services,  were 
known  to  say  that  Mrs.  Moloney  knew  perfectly  well 
what  she  was  going  to  use,  that  the  consideration  was 
simulated,  and  that  the  oft-used  crystal  was  common 
washing-soda  and  nothing  else.  But  these  flighty 
children  took  care  not  to  say  such  things  in  the  hearing 
of  their  mothers,  who  had  been  treated  for  Gineral 
Wakeness. 

Doubtless  the  prescriptions  of  Mrs.  Moloney  lacked 
precision  on  the  quantitative  side.  A  cure  of  rheumatism 
was  threepence-worth  of  "  Hickery  Picker y  in  a  naggin 
o'  the  best  sperrits."  To  be  well  shaken  and  taken 
by  the  teaspoonful,  alternative  mornings,  on  a  fasting 
stomach.  "  Sixpence  worth  o'  Gum  Go  Wackem," 
also  made  up  in  the  "  best  sperrits,"  was  a  remedy 
supposed  to  acquire  special  potency  from  a  prodigious 


322  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

amount  of  shaking.  "  Show  me  how  ye'll  shake  it," 
the  medicine-woman  would  say,  and  when  the  patient 
made  a  great  show  of  half-a-minute's  shaking,  she— 
it  was  oftenest  she — would  be  surprised  to  hear  that 
that  was  no  shaking,  and  an  exhibition  of  what  was  good 
and  sufficient  shaking  would  be  made  by  Mrs.  Moloney. 
In  the  case  of  her  sovran  remedy  for  sore  eyes,  to  be  used 
very  sparingly — a  pennorth  o'  Red  Perspitherate,* 
in  a  tablespoonful  of  fresh  butter — the  quantity  for  an 
application  was  always  indicated  in  special  and  dramatic 
fashion.  She  asked,  "  And  how  much  will  ye  be  puttin' 
in  your  eye,  now  ? — jist  show  me."  The  patient, 
desiring  to  avoid  a  mean  or  niggardly  use  of  the  remedy, 
would  probably  indicate  on  the  finger  a  lump  as  large 
as  an  eye  of  liberal  measurements  could  be  supposed 
to  accommodate.  Then  the  good  woman  would  lean 
back  and  sigh.  A  pin  would  be  withdrawn  from  some 
part  of  her  clothing,  and  held  between  the  thumb  and 
finger  so  that  only  the  head  appeared. 

"  Do  ye  see  that  pin-head  ?  " 

The  afflicted  nods  in  acquiescence. 

"  Do  ye  see  that  pin-head  ?  Now  take  a  good  look 
at  it." 

Again  the  sore-eyed  indicates  accurate  observation. 

"  Well,  not  a  pick  more  nor  that,  if  ye  want  to  keep 
your  eyesight." 

Other  quantitative  directions  were  given  in  "  fulls  " 
— "  the  full  o'  yer  fist,"  "  the  full  o'  an  egg-cup,"  even 
"  the  full  o'  yer  mooth."  Or,  by  sizes  of  objects,  as, 
"  the  size  o'  a  pay,"  "  the  size  o'  a  marble."  Or  by 
coin  areas,  "  what'll  lie  on  a  sixpence,"  or  on  a  shilling, 
or  on  a  penny.  Or  by  money  values,  as  in  the  Hickery 
*Red  Precipitate — red  oxide  of  mercury. 


THE  WISE   WOMAN.  323 

Pickery  prescription.  Fists,  peas,  marbles  vary  con- 
siderably in  size,  and  in  the  case  of  money-values  a 
change  of  chemist  might  mean  a  considerable  variation 
in  quantity  ;  but,  with  the  possible  exception  of 
"  Lodelum,"  prescribed  in  drops,  the  quantities  of  the 
good  woman's  remedies  bore  variation  to  a  considerable 
extent  without  serious  difference  in  result.  That  "  the 
best  sperrits  "  were  so  frequently  the  medium  for  "  exhi- 
bition "  of  her  remedies  may  account  for  the  great 
popularity  with  adults  which  these  remedies  enjoyed. 
These  were  the  days  when  hospitality  was  not  hos- 
pitality without "  sperrits  "  free  from  medicinal  addition, 
and,  late  in  the  afternoon,  Mrs.  Moloney  was  accustomed 
to  accept  graciously  "  the  full  o'  an  egg-cup,"  qualified 
by  the  addition  of  sugar  and  hot  water.  Once,  while 
sipping  her  punch,  she  asked  that  a  little  should  be  given 
to  me  as  a  treat,  and  when  the  pungent  spirit,  in  the 
unaccustomed  throat,  produced  a  cough,  she  promptly 
diagnosed  "  a  wake  chist." 


324  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

The   Meet  of  the   Beagles. 

From  "  Patsy." 
BY  H.  DE  VERB  STACPOOLE. 

DIRECTLY  Patsy  had  left  the  news  that  the  "  quality  " 
were  coming  to  the  meet  and  returned  to  the  house  the 
crowd  in  front  of  the  Castle  Knock  Inn  thickened. 

Word  of  the  impending  event  went  from  cabin  to 
cabin,  and  Mr.  Mahony,  the  chimney  sweep,  put  his 
head  out  of  his  door. 

"  What's  the  news,  Rafferty  ?  "  cried  Mr.  Mahony. 

"  Mimber  of  Parlymint  and  all  the  quality  comin' 
to  the  meet !  "  cried  a  ragged-looking  ruffian  who  was 
running  by. 

"  Sure,  it'll  be  a  big  day  for  Shan  Finucane,"  said 
Mrs.  Mahony,  who  was  standing  behind  her  husband 
in  the  doorway  with  a  baby  in  her  arms. 

Mr.  Mahony  said  nothing  for  a  while,  but  watched 
the  crowd  in  front  of  the  inn. 

"  Look  at  him,"  said  Mr.  Mahony,  breaking  out  at 
last — "  look  at  him  in  his  ould  green  coat !  Look  at 
him  with  the  ould  whip  undher  his  arm,  and  the  boots 
on  his  feet  not  paid  for,  and  him  struttin'  about  as  if 
he  was  the  Marqus  of  Waterford  !  Holy  Mary  1  did  yiz 
ever  see  such  an  objick  !  Mr.  Mullins  1  " 

"  Halloo  1  "  replied  Mr.  Mullins,  the  cobbler  across 
the  way,  who,  with  his  window  open  owing  to  the 
mildness  of  the  weather,  was  whaling  away  at  a  shoe- 
sole,  the  only  busy  man  in  the  village. 

"  Did  y'  hear  the  news  ?  " 

"  What  news  ?  " 


THE  MEET  OF  THE  BEAGLES.  325 

"  Shan's  going  to  get  a  new  coat." 

"  Faith,  thin,  I  hope  he'll  pay  first  for  his  ould  shoes." 

"  How  much  does  he  owe  you  ?  " 

"  Siven  and  six — bad  cess  to  him  !  " 

"  He'll  pay  you  to-night,  if  he  doesn't  drink  the  money 
first,  for  there's  a  Mimber  of  Parlymint  goin'  to  the 
meet,  and  he'll  most  like  put  a  suverin  in  the  poor  box." 

Mr.  Mullins  made  no  reply,  but  went  on  whaling 
away  at  his  shoe,  and  Bob  Mahony,  having  stepped 
into  his  cottage  for  a  light  for  his  pipe,  came  back  and 
took  up  his  post  again  at  the  door. 

The  crowd  round  the  inn  was  growing  bigger  and 
bigger.  Sneer  as  he  might,  Mr.  Mahony  could  not 
but  perceive  that  Shan  was  having  the  centre  of  the  stage, 
a  worshipping  audience,  and  free  drinks. 

Suddenly  he  turned  to  his  offspring,  who  were 
crowding  behind  him,  and  singling  out  Billy,  the  eldest : 

"  Put  the  dunkey  to,"  said  Mr.  Mahony. 

"  Sure,  daddy,"  cried  the  boy  in  astonishment,  "  it's 
only  the  tamers." 

"  Put  the  dunkey  to  !  "  thundered  his  father,  "  or 
it's  the  end  of  me  belt  I'll  be  brightenin'  your  intellects 
with." 

"  There's  two  big  bags  of  sut  in  the  cart  and  the 
brushes,"  said  Billy,  as  he  made  off  to  do  as  he  was 
bidden. 

"  Lave  them  in,"  said  Mr.  Mahony  ;  "  it's  only  the 
tarriers." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  donkey,  whose  harness  was 
primitive  and  composed  mainly  of  rope,  was  put  to, 
and  the  vehicle  was  at  the  door. 

"  Bob  !  "  cried  his  wife  as  he  took  his  seat. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Mr  Mahony,  taking  the  reins. 


326  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  Won't  you  be  afther  givin'  your  face  the  lick  of  a 
tow'l  ?  " 

"  It's  only  the  tarriers,"  replied  Mr.  Mahony  ;  "  sure, 
I'm  clane  enough  for  them.  Come  up  wid  you,  Norah." 

Norah,  the  small  donkey,  whose  ears  had  been  cocking 
this  way  and  that,  picked  up  her  feet,  and  the  vehicle, 
which  was  not  much  bigger  than  a  coster  monger's 
barrow,  started. 

At  this  moment,  also,  Shan  and  the  dogs  and  the  crowd 
were  getting  into  motion,  making  down  the  road  for  Glen 
Druid  gates. 

"Hulloo!  hulloo!  hulloo!"  cried  Mr.  Mahony, 
as  he  rattled  up  behind  in  the  cart,  "  where  are  yiz  oft 
to?" 

"  The  meet  of  the  baygles,"  replied  twenty  voices  ; 
whilst  Shan,  who  had  heard  his  enemy's  voice,  stalked 
on,  surrounded  by  his  dogs,  his  old,  battered  hunting 
horn  in  one  hand,  and  his  whip  under  his  arm. 

"  And  where  are  they  going  to  meet  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Mahony. 

"  Glen  Druid  gate,"  replied  the  camp  followers. 
"  There's  a  Mimber  of  Parlymint  comin',  and  all  the 
quality  from  the  Big  House." 

"  Faith,"  said  Mr.  Mahony,  "  I  thought  there  wa.; 
somethin'  up,  for,  by  the  look  of  Shan,  as  he  passed  me 
house  this  mornin',  I  thought  he'd  swallowed  the  Lord 
Liftinant,  Crown  jew'ls  and  all.  Hulloo !  hulloo  ! 
hulloo  !  make  way  for  me  carridge  !  Who  are  you 
crowdin'  ?  Don't  you  know  the  Earl  of  Leinsther 
when  y'  see  him  ?  Out  of  the  way,  or  I'll  call  me 
futman  to  disparse  yiz." 

Shan  heard  it  all,  but  marched  on.  He  could  have 
killed  Bob  Mahony,  who  was  turning  his  triumph 


THE  MEET  OF  THE  BEAGLES.  327 

into  a  farce,  but  he  contented  himself  with  letting  fly 
with  his  whip  amongst  the  dogs,  and  blowing  a  note  on 
his  horn. 

"  What's  that  nize  ?  "  enquired  Mr.  Mahony,  with  a 
wink  at  the  delighted  crowd  tramping  beside  the  donkey 
cart. 

"  Shan's  blowin'  his  harn,"  yelled  the  rabble. 

"  Faith,  I  thought  it  was  Widdy  Finnegan's  rooster 
he  was  carryin  in  the  tail  pockit  of  his  coat,"  said  the 
humourist. 

The  crowd  roared  at  this  conceit,  which  was  much 
more  pungent  and  pointed  as  delivered  in  words  by  Mr. 
Mahony  ;  but  Shan,  to  all  appearances,  was  deaf. 

The  road  opposite  the  park  gates  was  broad  and 
shadowed  by  huge  elm  trees,  which  gave  the  spot  in 
summer  the  darkness  and  coolness  of  a  cave.  Here 
Shan  halted,  the  crowd  halted,  and  the  donkey-cart 
drew  up. 

Mr.  Mahony  tapped  the  dottle  out  of  his  pipe  care- 
fully on  the  rail  of  his  cart,  filled  the  pipe,  replaced 
the  dottle  on  the  top  of  the  tobacco,  and  drew  a  whiff. 

The  clock  of  Glen  Druid  House  struck  ten,  and  the 
notes  came  floating  over  park  and  trees  ;  not  that  anyone 
heard  them,  for  the  yelping  of  the  dogs  and  the  noise 
of  the  crowd  filled  the  quiet  country  road  with  the 
hubbub  of  a  fair. 

"  What's  that  you  were  axing  me  ?  "  cried  Mr. 
Mahony  to  a  supposed  interrogator  in  the  crowd.  "  Is 
the  Prince  o'  Wales  comin'  ?  No,  he  ain't.  I  had  a 
tellygrum  from  him  this  mornin'  sendin'  his  excuzes. 
Will  some  gintleman  poke  that  rat-terrier  out  that's 
got  under  the  wheels  of  me  carridge — out,  you  baste  1  " 
He  leaned  over  and  hit  a  rabbit-beagle  that  had  strayed 


328  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

under  the  donkey-cart  a  tip  with  his  stick.  The  dog, 
though  not  hurt,  for  Bob  Mahony  was  much  too  good 
a  sportsman  to  hurt  an  animal,  gave  a  yelp. 

Shan  turned  at  the  sound,  and  his  rage  exploded. 

"  Who  are  yiz  hittin'  ?  cried  Shan. 

"  I'm  larnin'  your  dogs  manners,"  replied  Bob. 

The  huntsman  surveyed  the  sweep,  the  cart,  the  soot 
bags,  and  the  donkey. 

"  I  beg  your  pardin',"  said  he,  touchin  his  hat,  "  I 
didn't  see  you  at  first  for  the  sut." 

Mr.  Mahony  took  his  short  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
put  it  back  upside  down,  shoved  his  old  hat  further 
back  on  his  head,  rested  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and 
contemplated  Shan. 

"  But  it's  glad  I  am,"  went  on  Shan,  "  you've  come  to 
the  meet  and  brought  a  mimber  of  the  family  with 
you." 

Fate  was  against  Bob  Mahony,  for  at  that  moment 
Norah,  scenting  another  of  her  species  in  a  field  near  by, 
curled  her  lip,  stiffened  her  legs,  projected  her  head, 
rolled  her  eyes,  and  "  let  a  bray  out  of  her  "  that  almost 
drowned  the  howls  of  laughter  from  the  exulting  mob. 

But  Shan  Finucane  did  not  stir  a  muscle  of  his  face, 
and  Bob  Mahony's  fixed  sneer  did  not  flicker  or  waver. 

"  Don't  mention  it,  mum,"  said  Shan,  taking  off  his 
old  cap  when  the  last  awful,  rasping,  despairing  note 
of  the  bray  had  died  down  into  silence. 

Another  howl  from  the  onlookers,  which  left  Mr. 
Mahony  unmoved. 

"  They  get  on  well  together,"  said  he,  addressing 
an  imaginary  acquaintance  in  the  crowd. 

"  Whist  and  hould  your  nize,  and  let's  hear  what  else 
they  have  to  say  to  wan  another." 


THE  MEET  OF  THE  BEAGLES.          329 

Suddenly,  and  before  Shan  Finucane  could  open  his 
lips,  a  boy  who  had  been  looking  over  the  rails  into 
the  park,  yelled  : 

"  Here's  the  Mimber  of  Parlyment — here  they  come 
— Hurroo  !  " 

"  Now,  then,"  said  the  huntsman,  dropping  repartee 
and  seizing  the  sweep's  donkey  by  the  bridle,  "  sweep 
yourselves  off,  and  don't  be  disgracin'  the  hunt  wid  your 
sut  bags  and  your  dirty  faces — away  wid  yiz  !  " 

"  The  hunt !  "  yelled  Mahony,  with  a  burst  of  terrible 
laughter.  "  Listen  to  him  and  his  ould  rat-tarriers 
callin'  thim  a  hunt !  Lave  go  of  the  dunkey  !  " 

"  Away  wid  yiz  !  " 

"  Lave  go  of  the  dunkey,  or  I'll  batter  the  head  of 
you  in  wid  me  stick  !  Lave  go  of  the  dunkey  !  " 

Suddenly  seizing  the  long  flue  brush  beside  him,  and 
disengaging  it  from  the  bundle  of  sticks  with  which  it 
was  bound,  he  let  fly  with  the  bristle  end  of  it  at  Shan, 
and  Shan,  catching  his  heel  on  a  stone,  went  over  flat 
on  his  back  in  the  road. 

In  a  second  he  was  up,  whip  in  hand  ;  in  a  second  Mr. 
Mahony  was  down,  a  bag  half-filled  with  soot — a  terrible 
weapon  of  assault — in  his  fist. 

"  Hams  !  harns  !  "  yelled  Mahony,  mad  with  the 
spirit  of  battle,  and  unconsciously  chanting  the  fighting 
cry  of  long-forgotten  ancestors.  "  Who  says  cruckeder 
than  a  ram's  harn  !  " 

"  Go  it,  Shan  !  "  yelled  the  onlookers.  "  Give  it 
him,  Bob— sut  him  in  the  face— Butt-end  the  whip, 
y'idgit— Hurroo  !  Hurroo  !  Holy  Mary  !  he  nearly 
landed  him  then — Mind  the  dogs — 

Armed  with  the  soot-bag  swung  like  a  club,  and  the 
old  hunting-whip  butt-ended,  the  two  combatants 
formed  the  centre  of  a  circle  of  yelling  admirers. 


330  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  Look  !  "  said  Miss  Lestrange,  as  the  party  from  the 
house  came  in  view  of  the  road.  "  Look  at  the  crowd 
and  the  two  men  !  " 

"  They're  fighting  !  "  cried  the  general.  "  I  believe 
the  ruffians  dared  to  have  the  impudence  to  start 
fighting !  " 

At  this  moment  came  the  noise  of  wheels  from  behind, 
and  the  "  tub,"  which  had  obtained  permission  to  go 
to  the  meet,  drew  up,  with  Patsy  driving  the  children. 

"  Let  the  children  remain  here,"  said  the  General. 
"  You  stay  with  them,  Violet.  Come  along,  Boxall, 
till  we  see  what  these  ruffians  mean  " 

So  filled  was  his  mind  with  the  objects  in  view  that 
he  quite  forgot  Dicky  Fanshawe. 

"  You  have  put  on  the  short  skirt,"  said  Dicky,  who 
at  that  moment  would  scarcely  have  turned  his  head 
twice  or  given  a  second  thought  had  the  battle  of 
Austerlitz  been  in  full  blast  beyond  the  park  palings. 

"  And  my  thick  boots,"  said  Violet,  pushing  forward 
a  delightful  little  boot  to  speak  for  itself. 

The  children  were  so  engaged  watching  the  proceedings 
on  the  road  that  they  had  no  eyes  or  ears  for  their  elders. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  beagling  before  ?  "  asked  Dicky. 

"  Never  ;  but  I've  been  paper-chasing." 

"  You  can  get  through  a  hedge  ?  " 

"  Rather  !  " 

"  That'll  do,"  said  Dicky. 

"  Mr.  Fanshawe,"  cried  Lord  Gawdor  from  the 
"  tub,"  "  look  at  the  chaps  in  the  road — aren't  they  going 
for  each  other  !  " 

"  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Fanshawe,  whose  back  was  to  the 
road—"  Violet—" 

"  Yes." 


THE   MEET   OF  THE  BEAGLES.  331 

"  No  one's  looking — " 

"  That  doesn't  matter — No — not  here — Dicky,  if  you 
don't  behave,  I'll  get  into  the  tub— Gracious  !  what's 
that  ?  " 

"  He's  down  !  "  cried  Patsy,  who  had  been  standing 
up  to  see  better. 

"  Who  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Fanshawe. 

"  The  Mimber  of  Parlyment— Misther  Boxall— Bob 
Mahony's  grassed  him — " 

"  They're  all  fighting !  "  cried  Violet.  "  Come, 
Mr.  Fanshawe — Patsy — "  She  started  for  the  gates 
at  a  run. 

When  the  General  had  arrived  on  the  scene,  Shan 
had  just  got  in  and  landed  his  antagonist  a  drum- 
sounding  blow  on  the  ribs  with  the  butt  of  his  whip. 

"  Seize  the  other  chap,  Boxall !  "  cried  General 
Grampound,  making  for  Mahony. 

He  was  just  half  a  second  too  late  ;  the  soot  bag, 
swung  like  a  club,  missed  Shan,  and,  catching  Mr. 
Boxall  fair  and  square  on  the  side  of  the  face,  sent 
him  spinning  like  a  tee-totum  across  the  road,  and 
head  over  heels  into  the  ditch. 

That  was  all. 

A  dead  silence  took  the  yelling  crowd. 

"  He's  kilt !  "  came  a  voice. 

"  He  isn't ;  sure,  his  legs  is  wavin'." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  " 

"  He's  the  Mimber  of  Parlyment !  Run  for  your 
life,  and  don't  lave  off  runnin'  till  you're  out  of  the 
country." 

"  Hold  your  tongue  !  "  cried  General  Grampound. 
"  Boxall— hullo  !  Boxall !  are  you  hurt  ?  " 

"  I'm  all  right,"  replied  Mr.  Boxall,  who,  from  being 


332  HUMOURS  OF   IRISH  LIFE. 

legs  upwards,  was  now  on  hands  and  knees  in  the  ditch. 
"  I've  lost  something— dash  it !  " 

"  What  have  you  lost  ?" 

"  Watch." 

"  Come  out  and  I'll  get  some  of  these  chaps  to  look." 

Mr.  Boxall  came  out  of  the  ditch  with  his  handkerchief 
held  to  the  left  side  of  his  forehead. 

"  Why,  your  watch  and  chain  are  on  you  !  "  cried 
the  General. 

"  So  they  are,"  said  Mr.  Boxall,  pulling  the  watch 
out  with  his  left  hand,  and  putting  it  back.  "  I'm  off 
to  the  house — I  want  to  wash." 

"  Sure,  you're  not  hurt  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least,  only  my  forehead  scratched." 

"  What's  up  ?  "  cried  Dicky  Fanshawe,  who  had 
just  arrived. 

"  Nothing,"  replied  his  uncle.  "  Fellow  hit  him 
by  mistake — no  bones  broken.  Will  you  take  the 
governess  cart  back  to  the  house,  Boxall  ?  " 

"No,  thanks— I'll  walk." 

"  His  legs  is  all  right,"  murmured  the  sympathetic 
crowd,  as  the  injured  one  departed  still  with  his  hand- 
kerchief to  his  face,  "  and  his  arums.  Sure,  it's  the 
mercy  and  all  his  neck  wasn't  bruck." 

"  Did  yiz  see  the  skelp  Bob  landed  him  ?  " 

"  Musha  !  Sure,  I  thought  it  would  have  sent  his 
head  flying  into  Athy,  like  a  gulf  ball." 

Patsy,  who  had  pulled  the  governess  cart  up,  rose 
to  his  feet ;  his  sharp  eye  had  caught  sight  of  some- 
thing lying  on  the  road. 

"  Hould  the  reins  a  moment,  Mr.  Robert,"  said  he, 
putting  them  into  Lord  Gawdor's  hands.  He  hopped 
out  of  the  cart,  picked  up  the  object  in  the  road,  whatever 


THE  MEET  OF  THE  BEAGLES.          333 

it  was,  put  it  in  his  trousers'  pocket,  and  then  stood 
holding  the  pony's  head  ;  whilst  the  Meet,  from  which 
Bob  Mahony  had  departed  as  swiftly  as  his  donkey 
could  trot,  turned  its  attention  to  the  business  of  the  day, 
and  Shan,  collecting  his  dogs,  declared  his  intention 
of  drawing  the  Furzes. 

"  Was  that  a  marble  you  picked  up,  Patsy  ?  "  asked 
Lord  Gawdor,  as  the  red-headed  one,  hearing  Shan's 
declaration,  climbed  into*  the  "  tub  "  again  and  took  the 
reins. 

Patsy  grinned. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Fanshawe  had  been  writing  three 
important  letters  in  the  library.  When  he  had  finished 
and  carefully  sealed  them,  he  placed  them  one  on  top 
of  the  other,  and  looked  at  his  watch. 

The  three  letters  he  had  just  written  would  make 
everything  all  right  at  the  other  end.  This  was  the 
hot  end  of  the  poker,  and  it  had  to  be  grasped. 

Patsy  was  the  person  who  would  help  him  to  grasp 
it.  Patsy  he  felt  to  be  a  tower  of  strength  and  'cuteness, 
if  such  a  simile  is  permissible.  And,  rising  from  the 
writing-table  and  putting  the  letters  in  his  pocket,  he 
went  to  find  Patsy.  He  had  not  far  to  go,  for  as  he  came 
into  the  big  hall  Patsy  was  crossing  it  with  a  tray  in 
hand. 

"  Patsy,"  said  Mr.  Fanshawe,  "  when  does  the  post 
go  out  ?  " 

"  If  you  stick  >  our  letters  in  the  letter  box  be  the  hall 
door,  sir,"  said  Patsy,  "  it  will  be  cleared  in  half-an-hour. 
Jim  Murphy  takes  the  letter-bag  to  Castle  Knock." 

"  Right  1  "  said  Mr.  Fanshawe.  "  And,  see  here, 
Patsy  I  " 


334  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

"  Yes,  sir  ?  " 

"  I'm  in  a  bit  of  a  fix,  Patsy,  and  you  may  be  able 
to  help." 

"  And  what's  the  fix,  sir  ?  "  asked  Patsy. 

"  You  know  the  young  lady  you  gave  the  note  to 
this  morning — by  the  way,  how  did  you  give  it  ?  " 

"  I  tried  to  shove  it  undher  her  door,  sir." 

"  Yes  ?  " 

"  It  wouldn't  go,  so  I  give  a  knock.  l  Who's  there  ? ' 
says  she.  '  No  one,'  says  I ;  '  it's  only  hot  wather 
I'm  bringin'  you,'  for,  you  see,  sir,  the  ould  missis, 
her  ladyship,  was  in  the  next  room,  and  she's  not  as 
deaf  as  she  looks,  and  it's  afraid  I  was,  every  minnit, 
her  door'd  open,  and  she  and  her  ear-trumpet  come  out 
in  the  passidge.  '  I  have  hot  wather,'  says  she.  '  Niver 
mind,'  says  I,  '  this  is  betther.  Open  the  door,  for  the 
love  of  God,  for  I  can't  get  it  under  the  door,  unless 
I  rowl  it  up  and  shove  it  through  the  keyhole.'  Wid 
that  she  opens  the  door  a  crack  and  shoves  her  head  out. 
'  Who's  it  from  ?  '  she  says.  '  I  don't  know,'  says  I  ; 
'  it's  just  a  letther  I  found  on  the  stairs  I  thought  might 
belong  to  you.'  '  Thanks,'  says  she,  *  it  does,'  and  wid 
that  she  shut  the  door,  and  I  left  her." 

"  Well,  see  here,  Patsy  !  " 

0  Yes,  sir  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  marry  Miss  Lestrange." 

"  Faith,  and  I  guessed  that,"  said  Patsy  ;  "  and  it's 
I  that'd  be  joyful  to  dance  at  your  weddir',  sir." 

"  There  won't  be  any  dancing  in  t'.o  business,"  said 
Mr.  Fanshawe,  grimly.  "  You  know  Mr.  Boxall, 
Patsy  ?  " 

"  The  Mimber  of  Parlymint  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Well,   he   wants  to  marry   Miss   Lestrange ; 


THE  MEET  OF  THE  BEAGLES.  335 

and  the  worst  of  it  is,  Patsy,  that  my  uncle,  General 
Grampound,  wants  him  to  marry  her,  too." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Patsy.     "  And,  Mr.  Fanshawe  ?  " 

"  Yes.' 

'*  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  sir,  you  needn't  be  afear'd 
of  Mr.  Boxall  for  the  next  few  days." 

"  How's  that  ?  " 

"  When  Bob  Mahony  hit  him  the  skelp  on  the  head 
wid  the  sut  bag,  his  eye  popped  out  of  his  head  on  the 
road." 

"  His  what  ? — Oh,  I  remember—" 

"  Finders  is  keepers,  sir,"  said  Patsy,  with  a  grin. 

"  Why,  good  heavens — you  don't  mean  to  say — 

"  I've  got  his  eye  in  my  pocket,  sir,"  said  Patsy,  in  a 
hoarse  whisper.  "  He's  sint  a  telygram  for  another  wan 
but  till  it  comes  he's  tethered  to  his  bed  like  a  horse  to 
a — " 

"  That's  enough— that's  enough,"  said  Mr.  Fanshawe. 
"  Here's  half  a  crown  for  you,  Patsy,  for — carrying  my 
cartridges." 


336  HUMOUR0,   OP   IRISH    LIFE. 

The   Ballygullion   Creamery 
Society,    Limited. 

From  "  Ballygullion" 
BY  LYNN  DOYLE. 

'TwAS  the  man  from  the  Department  of  Agriculture 
comin'  down  to  give  a  lecture  on  poultry  an'  dairy- 
farmin',  that  set  the  ball  a-rollin'. 

The  whole  farmers  av  the  counthry  gathered  in  to 
hear  him,  an'  for  days  afther  it  was  over,  there  was  no 
talk  at  all  barrin'  about  hens  an'  crame,  an'  iverybody 
had  a  schame  av  their  own  to  propose. 

Ould  Miss  Armitage  ap  at  the  Hall  was  on  for  encou- 
ragin'  poultry-farmin'  ;  an'  give  a  prize  for  the  best 
layin'  hen  in  Ballygullion,  that  riz  more  scunners  in 
the  counthry  than  the  twelfth  av  July  itself.  There  was 
a  powerful  stir  about  it,  an'  near  iverybody  enthered. 

Deaf  Pether  of  the  Bog's  wife  was  an  easy  winner 
if  her  hen  hadn't  died,  an'  nothin*  would  satisfy  her 
but  it  was  poisoned  ;  though  divil  a  all  killed  it  but  the 
gorges  of  Indian  male  the  ould  woman  kept  puttin' 
intil  it. 

Ivery  time  the  hen  laid  she  give  it  an  extra  dose  of 
male,  "  to  encourage  the  crather,"  as  she  said  ;  an'  wan 
day  it  laid  a  double-yolked  wan,  she  put  a  charge  intil 
it  that  stretched  it  out  t  fF  in  half-an-hour. 

Afther  that  there  was  no  doubt  but  Larry  Thorn  is 's 
wi.e  would  win  the  prize  ;  Tor,  before  thj  end  av  the 
month  Miss  Armitage  had  allowed  for  the  test,  her  hen 
was  above  a  dozen  ahead  av  iverybody  else's.  ' 


THE  BALLYGULLION  CREAMERY   SOCIETY,  LIMITED.   337 

Howiver,  when  it  came  to  the  countin'  there  was  a 
duck-egg  or  two  here  an'  there  among  the  lot  that 
nayther  Mrs.  Thomas  nor  the  hen  could  well  account 
for,  so  ihe  both  of  thim  was  disqualified. 

An'  whin  it  came  to  the  bit,  an'  Mrs.  Archy  Doran 
won  the  prize,  she  counted  up  an'  made  out  that  between 
corn  an'  male,  she  had  paid  away  double  the  value  of 
it,  so  she  wasn't  very  well  plazed  ;  an'  thim  that  had 
spent  near  as  much  on  feedin'-stuff,  an'  had  got  no 
prize,  was  worse  plazed  still. 

The  only  one  that  came  out  av  it  well  was  Miss 
Armitage  herself;  for  she  kept  all  the  eggs,  an'  made 
above  twice  the  prize-mone  out  av  thim.  But  there 
was  nobody  else  as  well  plazed  about  that  as  she  was. 

So  all  round  the  hen  business  was  a  failure  ;  an'  it 
looked  as  if  there  was  nothin'  goin'  to  come  of  the 
ecture  at  all. 

However,  iverybody  thought  it  would  be  a  terrible 
pity  if  Ballygullion  should  be  behind  the  other  places  ; 
an'  at  last  there  was  a  move  made  to  start  a  cramery, 
an'  a  committee  was  got  up  to  set  things  goin'. 

At  first  the  most  av  us  thought  they  got  the  crame 
in  the  ould-fashioned  way,  just  be  skimmin' ;  but 
presently  it  begin  to  be  talked  that  it  was  all  done  be 
machinery.  Some  av  us  was  very  dubious  about  that ; 
for  sorrow  a  bit  could  we  see  how  it  was  to  be  done 
Thomas  McGorrian  maintained  it  would  be  done  wi' 
blades  like  the  knives  av  a  turnip-cutter,  that  it  would 
just  shave  the  top  off  the  milk,  an'  sweep  it  intil  a  pan  ; 
but  then  he  couldn't  well  explain  how  they'd  avoid 
shavin'  the  top  off  the  milk-dish,  too. 

Big  Billy  Lenahan  swore  it  was  done  with  a  worm 
like  a  still ;  but,  although  we  all  knowed  Billy  was  well 

X 


338  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

up  on  potheen,  there  was  few  had  iver  seen  him  havin' 
much  to  do  \vi'  milk  ;  so  nobody  listened  to  him. 

At  last  the  Committee  detarmined  they'd  have  a 
dimonsthration  ;  and  they  trysted  the  Department  man 
to  bring  down  his  machine  an'  show  how  it  was  done  ; 
for  all  iv  thim  was  agin  spendin'  money  on  a  machine 
till  they  were  satisfied  it  would  do  its  work. 

The  dimonsthration  was  to  be  held  in  Long  Tammas 
McGorrian's  barn,  an'  on  the  night  set  above  forty  av 
us  was  there.  We  all  sat  round  in  a  half-ring,  on  chairs 
an'  stools,  an'  any  other  conthrivance  we  could  get,  for 
all  the  world  like  the  Christy  Minstrels  that  comes  to 
the  Market  House  av  a  Christmas. 

The  dimonsthrator  had  rigged  up  a  belt  to  Tammas 's 
threshin'-machine,  an'  run  it  from  that  to  the  separator, 
as  he  called  it 

The  separator  itself  was  a  terrible  disappointin'  con- 
thrivance at  the  first  look,  an'  no  size  av  a  thing  at  all 
for  the  money  they  said  it  cost.  But  whin  the  dimon- 
sthrator begin  to  tell  us  what  it  would  do,  an 'how  by  just 
pourin'  the  milk  intil  a  metal  ball  an'  bizzin'  it  round, 
ye  could  make  the  c  am?  come  out  av  one  hole,  an'  the 
milk  out  av  another,  we  began  to  think  more  av  it. 

Nobody  liked  to  spake  out  wi'  the  man  there,  but  there 
was  a  power  av  whisperin'. 

"  It's  a  mighty  quare  conthrivance,'  sez  wan. 

"  Did  ye  iver  see  the  like  av  it  ?  "  sez  another. 

41  Boy-a-boys,"  sez  James  Dougherty,  "  the  works 
av  man  is  wonderful.  If  my  ould  grandmother  could 
see  this,  it  would  break  her  heart,  'Twas  herself  was 
the  handy  dairy-woman,  too  ;  but  what'd  she  be  till  a 
machine  ?  ' 

But  most  av  thim  wouldn't  say  one  thing  or  another  till 


THE   BALLYGULLION   CREAMERY   SOCIETY,  LIMITED.   339 

they  seen  it  workin' ;  an',  'deed,  we  were  all  wishin' 
he'd  begin.  We  had  to  thole,  though  ;  for  the  dimon- 
sthrator  was  a  bumptious  wee  man,  an'  very  fond  av 
the  sound  av  his  own  voice,  an'  kept  talkin'  away  wi' 
big,  long  words  that  nobody  knowed  the  manin'  av 
but  himself,  till  we  were  near  deaved. 

So  we  were  powerful  glad  whin  he  sez  to  Mrs. 
McGorrian  :  "  Now,  Madam,  if  you'll  be  good  enough 
to  bring  in  the  milk,  I  will  proceed  to  give  an  actual 
demonstration." 

But  Mrs.  McGorrian  is  a  quiet  wee  woman,  an'  wi' 
all  the  crowd  there,  an'  him  callin'  her  Madam,  she  was 
too  backward  to  get  up  out  av  the  corner  she  was  in  ; 
an'  she  nudges  Tammas  to  go,  tellin'  him  where  to  get 
the  milk. 

So  Tammas  goes  out,  an'  presently  he  staggers  in  wi'  a 
big  crock  in  his  arms,  an'  sets  it  down. 

"  Now,"  sez  the  demonsthrator,  "  if  you'll  just  get  the 
horses  goin',  an'  pour  the  milk  into  that  receptacle, 
I'll  start  the  separator  working." 

Tammas  in  wi'  the  milk,  an'  the  wee  son  whips  up 
the  horses  outside,  an'  away  goes  the  separator  bizzin' 
like  a  hive  av  bees. 

"  In  a  few  seconds,  gentlemen  and  ladies,"  sez  the 
dimonsthrator,  "  you  will  see  the  milk  come  out  here, 
an'  the  cream  here.  Kindly  pay  attention,  please." 

But  he  needn't  have  spoke ;  for  iverybody  was 
leanin'  forrard,  holdin'  their  breath,  an'  there  wasn't 
a  sound  to  be  heard  but  the  hummin'  of  the  separator. 

Presently  there  comes  a  sort  av  a  thick  trickle  out  av 
the  milk-hole,  but  divil  a  dhrap  av  crame. 

The  dimonsthrator  gathered  up  his  brow  a  bit  at  that, 
an'  spakes  out  av  the  barn  windy  to  Tammas's  wee 


340  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

boy  to  dhrive  faster.  The  separator  hums  harder  than 
iver,  but  still  no  crame.  Wan  begin  to  look  at  the 
other,  an'  some  av  the  wimmen  at  the  back  starts 
gigglin'. 

The  dimonsthrator  begin  to  get  very  red  an'  flusthered- 
lookin'.  "  Are  ye  sure  this  milk  is  fresh  an'  hasn't 
been  skimmed  ?  "  he  sez  to  Tammas,  very  sharp. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Mary  ?  "  sez  Tammas,  lookin' 
over  at  the  wife.  "  Sartin,  sir,"  sez  Mrs.  Tammas. 
"  It's  just  fresh  from  the  cows  this  very  evenin'.  " 

"  Most  extraordinary,"  sez  the  dimonsthrator,  rubbin' 
his  hair  till  it  was  all  on  end.  "  I've  niver  had  such  an 
experience  before." 

"  It's  the  way  Tammas  feeds  his  cows,"  sez  Big  Billy 
Lenahan  from  the  back  ;  "  sure,  iverybody  knows  he 
gives  them  nothin'  but  shavin's." 

There  was  a  snigger  av  a  laugh  at  this  ;  for  Tammas 
was  well  known  to  be  no  great  feeder  av  cattle. 

But  Tammas  wasn't  to  be  tuk  down  so  aisy. 

"  Niver  mind,  Billy,"  sez  he  ;  "  av  you  were  put  on 
shavin's  for  a  week  or  two,  ye'd  maybe  see  your  boots 
again  before  you  died." 

There  was  another  laugh  at  this,  an'  that  started  a 
bit  av  jokin'  all  round — a  good  dale  av  it  at  the  dimon- 
sthrator ;  till  he  was  near  beside  himself.  For,  divil 
a  dhrop  av  crame  had  put  in  an  appearance  yet. 

All  at  wanst  he  stoops  down  close  to  the  milk. 

"  Bring  me  a  candle  here,"  sez  he,  very  sharp. 

Tammas  reaches  over  a  sconce  off  the  wall.  The 
dimonsthrator  bends  over  the  can,  then  dips  the  point 
av  his  finger  in  it,  an'  puts  it  in  his  mouth. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  sez  he,  lookin'  very  mad  at  Tammas. 
"  This  isn't  milk  at  all." 


THE  BALLYGULLION  CREAMERY  SOCIETY,   LIMITED.    341 

"  Not  milk,"  sez  Tammas.  "  It  must  be  milk.  I 
got  it  where  you  tould  me,  Mary." 

The  wife  gets  up  ah'  pushes  forward.  First  she  takes 
a  look  at  the  can  av  the  separator,  an'  thin  wan  at  the 
crock. 

"  Ye  ould  fool,"  she  sez  to  Tammas  ;  "  ye've  brought 
the  whitewash  I  mixed  for  the  dairy  walls  !  " 

I'll  say  this  for  the  dimonsthrator,  he  was  a  game 
wee  fellow  ;  for  the  divil  a  wan  laughed  louder  than  he 
did,  an'  that's  sayin'  something ;  but  sorrow  a  smile 
Tammas  cracked,  but  stood  gapin'  at  the  wife  wi'  his 
mouth  open  ;  an'  from  the  look  she  gave  him  back, 
there  was  some  av  us  thought  she  was,  maybe,  more 
av  a  tarther  than  she  looked. 

Though  troth  'twas  no  wondher  she  was  angry, 
for  the  joke  wint  round  the  whole  counthry,  an'  Tammas 
gets  nothin'  but  "  Whitewash  McGorrian  "  iver  since. 

Howaniver,  they  got  the  machine  washed  out,  an' 
the  rale  milk  intil  it,  an'  there  was  no  doubt  it  worked 
well.  The  wee  dimonsthrator  was  as  plazed  as  Punch, 
an'  ivery  body  wint  away  well  satisfied,  an'  set  on  havin' 
a  cramery  as  soon  as  it  could  be  got  started. 

First  av  all  they  wint  round  an'  got  the  names  av  all 
thim  that  was  goin'  to  join  in  ;  an'  the  explainin'  of  the 
schame  took  a  dale  av  a  time.  The  co-operatin' 
bothered  them  intirely. 

The  widow  Doherty  she  wasn't  goin'  to  join  an'  put  in 
four  cows'  milk,  she  said,  whin  she'd  only  get  as  much  out 
av  it  as  Mrs.  Donnelly,  across  the  field,  that  had  only  two. 
Thin,  whin  they  explained  to  the  widow  that  she'd 
get  twice  as  much,  ould  mother  Donnelly  was  clane 
mad  ;  for  she'd  thought  she  was  goin'  to  get  the  betther 
av  the  widow. 


342  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

Thin  there  was  tarrible  bother  over  barrin'  out  wee 
Mrs.  Morley,  because  she  had  only  a  goat.  Some  was 
for  lettin'  her  in  ;  but  the  gineral  opinion  was  that  it 
would  be  makin'  too  little  av  the  Society. 

Howiver,  all  was  goin'  brave  an'  paceable  till  ould 
Michael  Murray,  the  ould  dunderhead,  puts  in  his  oar. 

Michael  was  a  divil  of  a  man  for  pace-makin',  an'  riz 
more  rows  than  all  the  county,  for  all  that ;  for  whin 
two  dacent  men  had  a  word  or  two  av  a  fair-day,  maybe 
whin  the  drink  was  in  them,  an'  had  forgot  all  about 
it,  the  next  day  ould  Michael  would  come  round  to 
make  it  up,  an'  wi'  him  mindin'  them  av  what  had 
passed,  the  row  would  begin  worse  than  iver 

So,  whin  all  was  set  well  agoin',  an'  the  committee 
met  to  call  a  gineral  meetin'  av  the  Society,  ould  Michael 
he  gets  up  an'  says  what  a  pity  it  would  be  if  the  Society 
would  be  broke  up  wi'  politics  or  religion  ;  an'  he 
proposed  that  they  should  show  there  was  no  ill-feelin* 
on  either  side  by  holdin'  this  giniral  meetin'  in  the 
Orange  Hall,  an'  the  nixt  in  the  United  Irish  League 
rooms.  He  named  the  Orange  Hall  first,  he  said, 
because  he  was  a  Nationalist  himself,  an'  a  Home 
Ruler,  an'  always  would  be. 

There  was  one  or  two  Orangemen  beginnin'  to  look 
mighty  fiery  at  the  tail-end  av  Michael's  speech,  an' 
there's  no  tellin'  what  would  a'  happened  if  the  chair- 
man hadn't  whipped  in  an'  said  that  Michael's  was  a 
very  good  idea,  an'  he  thought  they  couldn't  do  betther 
than  folly  it  up. 

So,  right  enough,  the  first  gineral  meetin'  was  held 
in  the  Ballygullion  Orange  Hall. 

Iverything  was  very  quiet  an'  agreeable,  except  that 
some  av  the  red-hot  Nationalists  kept  talkin'  quare 


THE  BALLYGULLION  CREAMERY  SOCIETY,  LIMITED,     343 

skellys  at  a  flag  in  the  corner  wi'  King  William  on  it, 
stickin'  a  man  in'a  green  coat  wi'  his  sword. 

But,  as  fortune  would  have  it,  little  Billy  av  the  Bog, 
the  sthrongest  wee  Orangeman  in  Ulsther,  comes  in  at 
half-time  as  dhrunk  as  a  fiddler,  sits  down  on  a  form  an' 
falls  fast  asleep.  An'  there  he  snored  for  the  most  av 
half  an  hour,  till  near  the  end  av  the  meetin',  whin  the 
chairman  was  makin'  a  speech,  there  was  a  bit  av 
applause,  an'  ap  starts  Billy  all  dazed.  First  he  looked 
up  an'  seen  King  William  on  the  flag.  Thin  hearin' 
the  chairman's  voice,  he  gives  a  stamp  wi'  his  fut  on  the 
flure,  an'  a  "  hear,  hear,"  wi'  a  mortial  bad  hiccup 
between  the  "  hears."  The  wee  man  thought  he  was 
at  a  lodge-meetin'. 

All  av  a  sudden  he  sees  ould  Michael  Murray,  an', 
beside  him,  Tammas  McGorrian. 

Wi'  that  he  lepps  to  his  feet  like  a  shot,  dhrunk  as 
he  was,  an'  hits  the  table  a  terrible  lick  wi'  his  fist. 

"  Stap,  brethren,"  sez  he,  glarin'  round  the  room. 

"  Stap  !     There's  Papishes  present." 

Ye  niver  seen  a  meetin'  quicker  broke  up  than  that 
wan.  Half  the  men  was  on  their  feet  in  a  minit,  an' 
the  other  half  pullin'  thim  down  be  the  coat-tails. 
Iverybody  was  talkin'  at  the  wan  time,  some  av  thim 
swearin'  they'd  been  insulted,  an'  others  thryin'  to  make 
pace. 

Thin  the  wimmin  begin  to  scrame  an'  hould  back 
men  from  fightin*  that  had  no  notion  av  it  at  the  start, 
an*  only  begin  to  think  av  it  whin  they  were  sure  they 
wouldn't  be  let. 

Altogether  there  was  the  makin 's  of  as  fine  a  fight 
as  iver  ye  seen  in  your  life. 

However,   there   was   a   lot  of  dacent  elderly    men 


344  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE 

on  both  sides,  and  wi'  arguin'  an'  perswadin',  and 
houldin'  back  wan,  an'  pushin'  out  the  other,  the  hall 
was  redd  without  blows,  an',  bit  by  bit,  they  all  went 
home  quiet  enough. 

But  the  Cramery  Society  was  clane  split.  It  wasn't 
wee  Billy  so  much  ;  for  whin  people  begin  to  think 
about  it  the  next  mornin',  there  was  more  laughed  at 
him  than  was  angry  ;  but  the  party  feelin'  was  up  as 
bitther  as  could  be. 

The  Nationalists  was  mad  at  themselves  for  givin'  in 
to  go  to  a  meetin'  in  the  Orange  Hall,  for  fear  it  might 
be  taken  that  they  were  weakenin'  about  Home  Rule  ; 
an'  the  Orange  party  were  just  as  afeard  at  the  papers 
makin'  out  that  they  were  weakenin'  about  the  Union. 
Besides,  the  ould  King  William  in  the  corner  av  the 
Hall  had  done  no  good. 

I'm  no  party  man,  myself ;  but  whin  I  see  William 
Robinson,  that  has  been  me  neighbour  this  twinty 
years,  goin'  down  the  road  on  the  Twelfth  av  July  wi' 
a  couple  av  Orange  sashes  on,  me  heart  doesn't  warm 
to  him  as  it  does  av  another  day.  The  plain  truth 
is,  we  were  bate  at  the  Boyne  right  enough  ;  but  some 
av  us  had  more  than  a  notion  we  didn't  get  fair  play 
at  the  fightin' ;  an'  between  that  and  hearin'  about  the 
batin'  iver  since,  the  look  of  ould  Billy  on  his  white 
horse  isn't  very  soothin'. 

Anyway,  the  two  parties  couldn't  be  got  to  join  again. 
The  red-hot  wans  av  both  av  thim  had  meetin's,  wee 
Billy  leadin'  wan  side,  and  Tammas  McGorrian  the  other, 
an*  the  nixt  thing  was  that  there  was  to  be  two 
Crameries. 

The  moderate  men  seen  that  both  parties  were  makin' 
fools  av  themselves,  for  the  place  wasn't  big  enough 


THE   BALLYGULLION   CREAMERY   SOCIETY,   LIMITED.   345 

for  two  ;  but  moderate  men  are  scarce  in  our  parts, 
an'  they  could  do  nothin'  to  soothe  matthers  down. 
Whin  the  party  work  is  on,  it's  little  either  side  thinks 
av  the  good  av  thimselves  or  the  counthry  either. 

It's  "  niver  mind  a  dig  yourself  if  ye  get  a  slap  at 
the  other  fellow." 

So  notices  was  sent  out  for  a  meetin'  to  wind  up  the 
Society,  an*  there  was  a  powerful  musther  av  both 
sides,  for  fear  either  of  them  might  get  an  advantage 
over  the  other  wan. 

To  keep  clear  av  trouble  it  was  to  be  held  in  the 
Market  house. 

The  night  av  the  meetin'  come  ;  an'  when  I  got  into 
the  room  who  should  I  see  on  the  platform  but  Major 
Donaldson  an'  Father  Connolly.  An'  thin  I  begin  to 
wondher  what  was  on. 

For  the  Major  was  too  aisy-goin'  and  kindly  to  mix 
himself  up  wi'  party-work,  an'  Father  Connolly  was 
well  known  to  be  terrible  down  on  it,  too. 

So  a  sort  av  a  mutther  begin  to  run  through  the 
meetin'  that  there  was  goin'  to  be  an  attempt  to  patch 
up  the  split. 

Some  was  glad  and  not  afraid  to  say  it ;  but  the  most 
looked  sour  an'  said  nothin'  ;  an'  wee  Billy  and  Tammas 
McGorrian  kept  movin'  in  an'  out  among  their  friends 
an'  swearin'  them  to  stand  firm. 

When  the  room  was  well  filled,  an'  iverybody  settled 
down,  the  Major  gets  on  his  feet. 

"  Ladies  an'  gentlemen,"  sez  he — the  Major  was 
always  polite  if  it  was  only  a  travellin'  tinker  he  was 
spakin'  to — "  Ladies  an'  gentlemen,  you  know  why 
we've  met  here  to-night — to  wind  up  the  Ballygullion 
Cramery  Society.  I  wish  windin'  up  meant  that  it 


346  HUMOURS   OF   IRISH   LIFE. 

would  go  on  all  the  better  ;  but,  unfortunately,  windin' 
up  a  Society  isn't  like  windin'  up  a  clock." 

"  Now,  I'm  not  going  to  detain  you  ;  but  before  we 
proceed,  I'd  like  you  to  listen  to  Father  Connolly  here 
for  a  minute  or  two.  I  may  tell  you  he's  goin'  to  express 
my  opinion  as  well  as  his  own.  I  needn't  ask  you  to 
give  him  an'  attentive  hearin'  ;  ye  all  know,  as  well  as 
I  do,  that  what  he  says  is  worth  listenin'  to."  An' 
down  the  Major  sits. 

Thin  Father  Connolly  comes  forward  an'  looks  roun' 
a  minit  or  so  before  spakin'.  Most  av  his  own  people 
that  catched  his  eye  looked  down  mighty  quick,  for 
they  all  had  an  idea  he  wouldn't  think  much  av  what 
had  been  goin.'  on. 

But  wee  Billy  braces  himself  up  an'  looks  very  fierce, 
as  much  as  to  say  '*  there'll  no  praste  ordher  me 
about,"  and  Tammas  looks  down  at  his  feet  wi'  his 
teeth  set,  much  as  if  he  meant  the  same. 

"  Men  an'  wimmin  av  Ballygullion,"  sez  Father 
Connolly — he  was  aye  a  plain-spoken  wee  man — 
"  we're  met  here  to  end  up  the  United  Cramery  Society, 
and  after  that  we're  goin'  to  start  two  societies,  I  hear. 

"  The  sinsible  men  av  Ballygullion  sees  that  it  would 
be  altogether  absurd  an'  ridiculous  for  Catholics  an' 
Protestants,  Home  Rulers  an'  Unionists,  to  work 
together  in  anything  at  all.  As  they  say,  the  two  parties 
is  altogether  opposed  in  everything  that's  important. 

"  The  wan  keep  St.  Patrick's  Day  for  a  holiday, 
and  the  other  the  Twelfth  av  July  ;  the  colours  of  the 
one  is  green,  an*  the  colours  of  the  other  orange  ;  the 
wan  wants  to  send  their  Mimbers  av  Parliament  to 
College  Green,  and  the  other  to  Westminster ;  an' 
there  are  a  lot  more  differences  just  as  important  as 
these. 


THE  BALLYGULLION   CREAMERY   SOCIETY,   LIMITED     347 

"  It's  thrue,"  goes  on  the  Father,  "  that  some  ignorant 
persons  says  that,  after  all,  the  two  parties  live  in  the 
same  counthry,  undher  the  same  sky,  wi*  the  same 
sun  shinin'  on  them  an'  the  same  rain  wettin'  thim  ; 
an'  that  what's  good  for  that  counthry  is  good  for  both 
parties,  an'  what's  bad  for  it  is  bad  for  both  ;  that  they 
live  side  by  side  as  neighbours,  an'  buy  and  sell  among 
wan  another,  an'  that  nobody  has  iver  seen  that  there 
was  twinty-one  shillin's  in  a  Catholic  pound,  an'  nine- 
teen in  a  Protestant  pound,  or  the  other  way  about ;  an' 
that,  although  they  go  about  it  in  different  ways,  they 
worship  the  same  God,  the  God  that  made  both  av  thim  ; 
but  I  needn't  tell  ye  that  these  are  only  a  few  silly  bodies, 
an'  don't  riprisint  the  opinion  av  the  counthry." 

A  good  many  people  in  the  hall  was  lookin'  foolish 
enough  be  this  time,  an'  iverybody  was  waitin'  to  hear 
the  Father  tell  them  to  make  it  up,  an'  most  av  them 
willin'  enough  to  do  it.  The  major  was  leanin'  back, 
looking  well  satisfied. 

"  Now,"  sez  Father  Connolly,  "  after  what  I've  said, 
I  needn't  tell  ye  that  I'm  av  the  opinion  av  the  sinsible 
men,  and  I  think  that  by  all  manes  we  should  have  a 
Catholic  cramery  and  a  Protestant  wan." 

The  Major  sits  up  wi*  a  start,  an'  wan  looks  at  the 
other  all  over  the  room. 

"  The  only  thing  that  bothers  me,"  sez  the  Father, 
goin'  on  an'  takin'  no  notice,  "  is  the  difficulty  av  doin' 
it.  It's  aisy  enough  to  sort  out  the  Catholic  farmers 
from  the  Protestant ;  but  what  about  the  cattle  ?  "  sez  he. 

"  If  a  man  rears  up  a  calf  till  it  becomes  a  cow,  there's 
no  doubt  that  cow  must  be  Nationalist  or  Orange.  She 
couldn't  help  it,  livin'  in  this  country.  Now,  what  are 
you  going  to  do  when  a  Nationalist  buys  an  Orange 


34^  HUMOURS  OF  IRISH   LIFE. 

cow  ?  Tammas  McGorrian  bought  a  cow  from  wee 
Billy  there  last  month  that  Billy  bred  an'  reared  him- 
self. Do  ye  mane  to  tell  me  that's  a  Nationalist  cow  ? 
I  tell  ye  what  it  is,  boys,"  sez  the  Father,  wi'  his  eyes 
twinklin',  "  wan  can  av  that  cow's  milk  in  a  Nationalist 
cramery  would  turn  the  butther  as  yellow  as  the  shutters 
av  the  Orange  Hall." 

By  this  time  there  was  a  smudge  av  a  laugh  on  ivery- 
body's  face,  an'  even  Tammas  an'  wee  Billy  couldn't 
help  crackin'  a  smile. 

"  Now,"  sez  Father  Connolly,  "  afther  all,  it's  aisy 
enough  in  the  case  of  Tammas's  cow.  There's  no 
denyin'  she's  an  Orange  cow,  an'  either  Tammas  may  go 
to  the  Orange  cramery  or  give  the  cow  back  to  Billy." 

Tammas  sits  up  a  bit  at  that. 

"  But,  thin,  there's  a  lot  of  mighty  curious  cases. 
There's  my  own  wee  Kerry.  Iverybody  knows  I  bred 
her  myself ;  but,  thin,  there's  no  denyin'  that  her  father 
— if  that's  the  right  way  to  spake  av  a  bull — belonged 
to  Major  Donaldson  here,  an'  was  called  '  Prince  of 
.Orange.'  Now,  be  the  law,  a  child  follows  its  father 
in  these  matters,  an'  I'm  bound  be  it  to  send  the  wee 
Kerry's  milk  to  the  Orange  cramery,  although  I'll 
maintain  she's  as  good  a  Nationalist  as  ever  stepped ; 
didn't  she  thramp  down  ivery  Orange  lily  in  Billy 
Black's  garden  only  last  Monday  ? 

"  So,  boys,  whin  you  think  the  matter  out,  ye'll  see 
it's  no  aisy  matther  this  separatin*  av  Orange  an'  Green 
in  the  cramery.  For,  if  ye  do  it  right — and  I'm  for  no 
half-measures — ye'll  have  to  get  the  pedigree  av  ivery 
bull,  cow,  and  calf  in  the  counthry,  an'  then  ye'll  be 
little  further  on,  for  there's  a  lot  av  bastes  come  in  every 
year  from  Americay  that's  little  better  than  haythin'. 


THE  BALLYGULLION  CREAMERY   SOCIETY,   LIMITED.   349 

"  But,  if  ye  take  my  advice,  those  av  ye  that  isn't 
sure  av  your  cows'll  just  go  on  quietly  together  in  the 
manetime,  an'  let  thim  that  has  got  a  rale  thrue-blue 
baste  av  either  persuasion  just  keep  her  milk  to  them- 
selves, and  skim  it  in  the  ould-fashioned  way  wi'  a 
spoon." 

There  was  a  good  dale  av  sniggerin'  whin  the  Father 
was  spakin'  ;  but  ye  should  have  heard  the  roar  of  a 
laugh  there  was  whin  he  sat  down.  An'  just  as  it  was 
dyin'away,  the  Major  rises,  wipin'  his  eyes — 

"  Boys,"  sez  he,  "  if  it's  the  will  av  the  prisint  com- 
pany that  the  Ballygullion  Cramery  Society  go  on, 
will  ye  rise  an*  give  three  cheers  for  Father  Pether 
Connolly  ?  " 

Ivery  man,  woman,  an'  child — Protestant  and  Catholic 
— was  on  their  feet  in  a  minit ;  an'  if  the  Ballygullion 
Market-house  roof  didn't  rise  that  night,  it's  safe  till 
etarnity. 

From  that  night  on  there  was  niver  another  word  av 
windin'  up  or  splittin'  either.  An'  if  ever  ye  come 
across  a  print  av  butther  wi'  a  wreath  of  shamrocks  an' 
orange-lilies  on  it,  ye'll  know  it  come  from  the  Bally- 
gullion Cramery  Society,  Limited. 


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